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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27829108">Letters to Nowhere</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiontales/pseuds/Goodluckdetective'>Goodluckdetective (scorpiontales)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, Eventual Romance, Families of Choice, Grief/Mourning, POV Sam Winchester, POV Third Person, Pining, Post-Episode: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, Romance, Supportive Sam Winchester, Texting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:27:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>28,110</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27829108</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiontales/pseuds/Goodluckdetective</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Post Inherit the Earth</p><p>After God is defeated, Sam decides to text the one person they're still missing with regular updates. Castiel can read them when he gets back. Because they are getting him back. </p><p>This isn’t Chuck’s story anymore. They’ve lost too much to him as it is. They’ve won: it’s time they feel like it. And act like it too.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>100</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>302</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. "Are you there, Castiel, it’s Me, Sam Winchester?"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>It’s 2012 again, here’s Wonderwall. </p><p>This fanfic is not canon compliant after “Inherit the Earth” cus this is my city now. It’s been a really long time since I watched Supernatural, let alone wrote fic for it, so this is a bit like getting on an old rusty bike for me. I was dragged in with the news like everyone else, and because I am a firm believer of "fix canon yourself" here I am, writing fic for a fandom I only wrote for twice in my teens. </p><p>I wanted a Destiel reunion as much as anyone, but there are a lot of fics about that with the focus so I wanted to do something that also looked at Sam and Cas’ friendship. So this is a ship fic and a found family fic because I have two hands. I wanted this all to be a oneshot, but it's 7K already and that's wild, so multi-chapter here we come. I hope to have this complete by the end of the year with an update weekly.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He sends out the first one on the ride home from what should have been the end of the world with a dog in the backseat and the radio set to blast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His phone has been beeping non-stop since Jack turned the lights back on. Dean’s too, though he can’t answer since he’s driving. Some messages he gets are from hunters he hasn’t heard from in years, folks he thought might have died on the job. He’s shocked they even remember what happened. The rest of the world didn’t. It’s such a departure from the last times they saved the world with nothing but silence and a new crisis to await them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eileen’s text to him causes his breath to catch. It’s a single sentence.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“This is real.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>If Dean notices him tearing up, he doesn’t mention it. He’s all eyes on the road, heading back to the Bunker like this was a regular job. After fifteen minutes of calls and messages, Sam opens his contacts to reach out to the one number he hasn’t heard from. His thumb lingers over “Castiel” about to press down when he remembers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks to Dean, considering saying something, then decides better of it. The jubilation of their win sours in his head, the reminder that one person isn’t here to see it a depressing note on what should be their happy new beginning. They’d asked Jack to bring Cas back too, of course, but apparently his Godhood has limits when it comes to the empty. All he’d been able to provide them with was some leads to opening a portal and a wish of luck. No angel, no promise of resolution. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Chuck would love this,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Sam thinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“We can never have a victory without a loss to ruin it.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Rage boils in his gut at the thought. This isn’t Chuck’s story anymore. He doesn’t get to dictate their life as an endless repeating tragedy. They’ve lost too much to him as it is. They’ve won: it’s time they feel like it. And act like it too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sends off the first message a few minutes later.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <span>Hey man, it’s me, Sam.</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>I know this is kinda stupid: it’s not like you get bars in the Empty or anything. I don’t expect you to get these there. But when you get back, you should still have your phone (Dean said it went with you) and I plan to keep paying the bill so 1. You don’t have to ask someone for payphone quarters and 2. You can easily catch up on what you missed while you wait for us to pick you up.</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>We won. We are going to get you out of there. Promise. </span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>So we won. Chuck is human now. Score one for Team Free Will 2.0.</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>But, Jack is gone. Not dead: he sorta became God. It’s a long story. Anyway, apparently Godhood means an anti-interference policy or something, so yeah he’s gone. I’m sorry you didn’t get to say goodbye.</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>He’s happy though. Which I guess is what matters, right?</span>
  </p>
  <p>
    <span>We asked him about getting you back before he went hands off. He said he couldn’t grab you himself (something about the Empty being its own thing who knows) but he gave us some leads to start looking. Good leads too. And we’ve done more with less.</span>
  </p>
</blockquote><hr/><p>
  <span>Eileen is waiting for them when they get back to the Bunker. Sam almost trips over his own feet to pull her into a hug. She laughs and hugs him back, and Sam was so sure he would only hear that laugh again on his voicemail that he starts crying on her nice jacket. She cries on him too, though Sam’s jacket is so covered in dirt and blood that the tears might actually make it cleaner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean doesn’t say a word, just walks past them and mouths to Sam “I’ll be inside, loverboy” with a wink. The dog follows him. As soon as he vanishes behind the bunker door, Sam pulls Eileen into a kiss that is considered impolite to have in front of your sibling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After they’ve both calmed down a fraction, Sam fills Eileen in on what she missed, signing as much as he knows. She looks devastated when he tells her about Cas, and Sam remembers that the two of them were starting to become friends. When he tells her about Jack she asks quite a few follow up questions trying to wrap her head around it all. Sam doesn’t blame her: he’s trying to wrap his head around it too.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“So, is it thank Jack now?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> She signs, using the hand sign they came up for Jack’s name. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I don’t think he’ll care either way.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She walks towards the bunker, and Sam keeps step with her so she can see his face. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>How’s Dean?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t know,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Sam signs. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s hard to tell with him.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” That feels like a massive understatement. Sam is sure he knows Dean the best out of everyone on the planet, but still his brother manages to surprise him. Sam can read through Dean’s bullshit better than most and he’s faster to get a clue when something is up, but figuring out how Dean is doing often feels like decoding a spell. Sam can get the general idea from just looking at it, but for the particulars, he has to put in legwork to decipher exactly what’s on his brother’s mind. All he knows at the moment is that Dean is not okay. The rest is a guessing game until Sam has more clues or Dean spills his guts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> They walk into the door and head down the stairs. Sam can see the dog, a giant ball of white fur, running around the wooden table in the middle, tail wagging.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “</span>
  <em>
    <span>The dog is a surprise,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he signs. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Castiel and Jack’s names carved into the table and feels a pang of loss. Eileen walks up to the dog.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Really?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I thought he hated them. They have bad history.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> History is perhaps an understatement, but Dean’s trauma from Hell is not his to tell. He reaches down to pet the dog behind the ears and they bark happily.  The dog makes a pitiful noise when Sam stops petting them to sign to Eileen. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m going to see where he went.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Eileen nods, bending down to spoil their new furry friend. Sam heads down the hallway towards Dean’s room. When he doesn’t find him there, somehow, he knows where to look. Dean told him where it happened. Past the bookshelves and the door with Cas’ blood on it is Dean, staring at the wall. His palm is against it, head bowed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean?” Sam says, voice soft, trying not to startle. Dean keeps his pose for a second then turns around to take in Sam, a fake smile falling across his face. Sam knows it well: it’s too large, too tight at the edges, and it doesn’t reach Dean’s eyes. It’s the kind of smile they put on to talk to civilians on cases, the one to disarm and encourage the feeling that “everything’s alright.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam has always hated seeing it directed at him. It’s a clue that translates to “something Dean doesn’t think Sam can fix.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, just taking a minute,” Dean says. He walks past Sam before Sam can say another word. “Do you know if Eileen is hungry? I think it’s time for dinner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam watches him go then turns back to the wall. He knows the significance of this room without being told, just from the sigil on the door and the upturned books. This was where Castiel died. Where the Empty took him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell happened here?” Sam asks the empty space. He doesn’t get a reply but it’s not like he expected one. He knows Cas can’t hear him, but just in case, he closes his eyes and directs the question as a prayer, though the wording is slightly different.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Cas, what the hell happened to you?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>[A photo is attached of a large white dog with floppy ears, lying on a bed next to a sleeping Dean. Both dog and man are drooling, the latter onto his pillow, the former onto Dean’s shirt. A dog bed rests in the corner of the room, unused.]</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>So Dean has a dog now. Her name is Miracle. She’s been here for two days and she already runs the place. Dean even let her have some of his bacon. I checked to make sure he wasn’t possessed just in case. He didn’t think it was funny.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>I was shocked Dean wanted to keep her. You know how he is with dogs. But he insisted. And I guess it’s working out because well...you can see the picture.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Might start calling myself Uncle Sam to get on his nerves. I’ll report back on how that goes should I survive. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>I’m looking into a book Jack told me to start at. There’s a spell in it, one to summon someone who might be able to help us help you. Don’t worry, no deal making required. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Hope to see you soon.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><hr/><p>
  <span>Dean is the one to tell Claire. Sam offers to do it for him, but Dean blows him off, gets in the Impala and drives down to deliver the news in person. He refuses to let Sam come with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t shit you should hear over a phone,” Dean says. “It’s my fault he’s gone. I should at least tell her myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam is on edge the entire time he’s gone. When Dean comes back, he looks like absolute crap, and when he falls back in a chair, Miracle is quick to run to his side and place her head in his lap. Sam watches Dean pet her half heartedly behind the ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That bad, huh,” Sam says. Dean reaches to pet Miracle under her chin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kid lost enough. Don’t blame her for lashing out at the dude who cost her more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean it’s not your-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean looks up at him and his expression is stone. Sam’s words die on his lips. He knows better than to try to talk to Dean when he’s like this. Not unless he wants it to go badly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is another clue, he thinks. Dean blames himself for whatever happened and not just in his general “the world is my fault” way. Dean confirms it himself the next second he speaks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t know what happened. And it is. Trust me Sam, it is.” He stands up and pats the dog on her head. “And it will be until we get him back. So any leads?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam takes the distraction, but he makes a mental note not to let the conversation go. For now.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>[Text is from a number belonging to contact “Claire Novak, FBI Cell”]</strong>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Fuck you for leaving me too.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><hr/>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Went to clean up your room a bit so it doesn’t get too dusty. Found it already in good shape. I think Dean has been keeping the cobwebs away. He really misses you, you know? He’s taking this...hard. I’m worried. I’m always worried but you know what I mean. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Also, I saw your collection of IDs. Agent Lizzo? Really? Did anyone buy that? </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>When you get back, we should make you some ones with some artists who aren’t as conspicuous as a lie. I’m shocked you didn’t get busted. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>The ingredients for this summoning spell are kind of nuts, and they’re going to take time to gather. I’m using Rowena’s stash to make up most of it, but the real problem is making a lyre out of some petrified wood.  We have to steal some from a National Forest Preserve. It’s an easy heist, but it’s kinda weird to be trying to con just some Park Rangers.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Also, do angels know how to play a lyre or is that just a stereotype? I’ve been up for over twenty seven hours reading this thing and I have to know. Tell me when you get back.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Also, what do you know about Orpheus? </span>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Anyway, Here's Wonderwall</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dean learns the wonders of Masterclass, Sam gets retrospective and Castiel knows that Lizzo slaps.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> Dean is doing better. He’s drinking less, which I’m sure you’re thrilled about; I know you’ve been patching that his liver over the years. Along with my migraines. You’re not as subtle as you think, Cas. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> We took a case in Madison last week while we were grabbing ingredients for the spell to help get you back. There are these giant steam tunnels under the city, absolutely massive, and some ghouls set up shop in there. Charlie came with.  </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> She’s working on programming a system for hunters to use like the British Men of Letters had but less douchey. She wants to build a stronger Hunter network with Chuck defeated and everything. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>  It’s a good idea. Even if all I can think of is how that ended last time. Could really use your advice like Charming Acres, I’ll tell you that.  </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Anyway, we’re doing the spell this weekend. Hopefully whatever Oryphrus tells us will get us to you quicker. And without any singing. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Though, if there is singing, it might not be that bad if Dean is the one doing it. He’s actually pretty good. You should hear him sometime. We can get a karaoke machine and trick him into it when you get back.  </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><hr/><p>When he was a kid, the only Hunting training Sam truly enjoyed was reading the lore.</p><p>Had he grown up a normal child, he probably would have had a mythology phase. Sam has always loved stories, a bookworm from the point he could read, and folklore were stories just like any other, even if they were older than the ones on television. He knew tales from across the world, tales of trickster foxes from Japan and La Llarona from Mexico. </p><p>Greek folklore were some of the only stories he was also taught in school. Almost everyone knew the story of Orpheus and Eurydice. The tragedy of it all, the romance: no wonder the legend stuck around. According to Alex, they’d even made a musical about it.</p><p>Sam never thought he’d actually use that tale for his job.</p><p>Yet here Sam is, collecting ingredients to speak to the spirit of a quasi-Demi God. This is his life. Saving people, hunting things, communing with long dead bards. </p><p>“So, we got most everything?” Dean asks from the corner of the library, where he reads up on their latest case. Sam places the ingredients for the spell into an old bowl, mixing them so they will have enough time to settle. If all worked as Jack said, they will be talking with Orpheus tonight. </p><p>“Almost. The pomegranate seeds, water of the Styx and the lyre are done.” </p><p>“And you’re sure we won’t have to play the lyre?” Dean walks over and reaches for the lyre’s strings and Sam swats his hand away. He’s spent too long working on it for Dean to accidentally break it. Dean scowls at him.</p><p>“It says we just need to have it made. I guess it’s for him to play or something.”</p><p>“So we’re going to get a free concert with this consult? Fun. Think he knows Wonderwall?”</p><p>“Dean.” Sam chides, but there’s a lack of true irritation in his voice. Dean joking is a massive improvement from how Dean acted weeks previous, while Chuck was still out there watching them suffer. Defeating Chuck has done him some good, not enough to wipe away the melancholy of loss, but enough that he isn’t passed out drunk on a table. Dark circles remain under his eyes, and Sam knows he has nightmares from the screaming, but all and all, he’s functional.</p><p>Frankly, it’s such a vast shift from Dean’s usual coping mechanisms, that it puts Sam ill at ease. The last time Cas died (and what did that say about his life, that he’s done this before), Sam watched Dean turn into someone that resembled their late father far more than he would like. Drinking liquor like water, and lashing out at anyone to blame.  Sam had even told him as such during one explosive argument, a week before Cas came back. It’s a memory he doesn’t like to think about.</p><p>Sam looks back to the ingredients, pulling himself out of the memory. It’s good that Dean is different this time, but Sam worries that it’s a calm before a storm. That one day, Sam will wake up and find his brother in pieces without a warning.</p><p>He crushes some sage into the bowl and pushes away that thought. He has a spell to pull off. </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> “Hello this is Castiel. Leave your voice a message.” </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> The caller says nothing, they only breathe for a minute, then hang up.  </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><hr/><p>At midnight, Sam draws the circle in the dungeon using the ingredients in the bowl. It’s just him and Dean doing this, Eileen out on a hunt with Garth. The sigil isn’t too complex, and Sam does the drawing himself with a brush made of ox hair that he inherited from Rowena. When it’s all done, he places the lyre in the center and steps back. Dean, who has been watching him from a chair near the door whistles. </p><p>“You’re a regular Merlin, huh, Sammy?”<br/>“Shut up,” Sam says, but there’s no heat in it. He’s rather proud of his own work too. His lines have never been cleaner. </p><p>“Rowena would be impressed. You should send her a picture: I’m sure she kept up Crowley’s great cell service in Hell.”</p><p>Sam does, because he’s snarky like that. He’s sure she’ll get back to him before the next day either with some veiled praise or critique about a possible thing he could have done better. Sam walks around the circle once, then twice and looks up at Dean. He’s not looking at Sam, staring past him at the wall behind them. Sam recognizes the look of someone lost in a memory.</p><p>“Dean?” </p><p>Dean startles. “What, it’s showtime already? I thought we had thirty minutes to spare before midnight.”</p><p>“No, no, we do. I just-“ It’s likely not the best time to do this, but when is it ever a good time to try to get Dean to talk about his feelings. They could be in an office with a therapist and it would still be a bad time. “You still haven’t told me about what happened with Cas.”</p><p>Dean appears as relaxed as before but Sam doesn’t miss his hands clenching around the sides of the chair, knuckles white. “Yeah, I did. He summoned the Empty, saved my ass from Billie  and now we’re here getting ready talking to an act more washed up than Ladyheart to get his feathery ass back. I think that covers it.” </p><p>“Uh, no it doesn’t. Dean, you didn’t answer your phone for almost eight hours, I thought you were dead.” That isn’t a lie. Sam spent that time pacing trying to keep it together for Jack, half tempted to drive back to the bunker and half tempted to set up a warding circle to hold off Billie. When Dean finally called him back in the early hours of the morning, Sam hadn’t slept a wink. Jack and him spent the night hidden away in the shut off walk-in freezer of the gas station, wardings written on the walls with sharpies from the register. “And how did Cas summon the empty anyway? His grace was on the fritz and last time he wanted to talk to someone in the Empty, he had to almost die. Last time I checked, the Empty wasn’t big on house calls.”</p><p>Dean lowers his head, staring at his shoes. When he speaks, his voice is gruff, the tone that reminds Sam of his Dad when he was trying to order him around. “Sam can you drop it?” Dean takes a breath and then says something that their father never did. “Please.”</p><p>A twinge of guilt hits Sam. His brother saw Cas’ possible last moments: it’s not shocking he doesn’t want to talk about it. Sam could be a bit more gentle on the subject. </p><p>“Look, Dean, I’m not trying to pry,” Sam says, voice softer. Dean looks up at him and raises an eyebrow, scowl still plastered across his face. In response, Sam holds up his hands in surrender. “No, really, I’m not. It’s your business. I’m just wondering if some details might help us get him back, that's all. I don’t need you to spill your guts and you don’t have to. But if there’s stuff i should know that might help, you should tell me.”</p><p>Sam expects him to refuse and double down, because that’s what Dean does. Getting him to be truthful about his feelings is a war of attrition and Sam isn’t even out of his foxhole on this one. But to his surprise, Dean opens his mouth, then closes it, along with his eyes. Shakes his head like throwing off a bad memory. When he speaks next, it’s not a refusal.</p><p>“Okay. But not until we do this.”</p><p>Sam hopes he doesn’t look as shocked as he feels because Dean might find it offensive. But just in case, he nods quick and turns around to hide the surprise that is surely there for everyone to see. The time until the ritual they spend in relative silence.</p><p>The ritual working itself is simple, an ancient greek incantation Jack led them to before he vanished to be one with the rain. Dean turns off the lights and lights the candles around the circle as Sam reads out the wording off his phone. At first, there’s no change, but as he gets further into the rite, the lyre begins to play itself, a gentle melody radiating from the strings Sam spent hours tuning. The song is soft, a ballad with a measured tempo that reminds Sam of a lament. The lyre floats as it continues and then, in the blink of an eye, is Oryephus, holding the instrument in his hands with care. Sam watches him pluck the last note and look up at them with white eyes.  </p><p>Dean speaks first. “So, you must be Oryephus.”</p><p>The bard watches them. His hair is pulled back, a long and untamed mane of dark brown. If he wore modern clothes, he would remind Sam of every stoner kid in college with a guitar who thought they were going to become a musician. His voice is different, though. His voice has a melody to it, a cadence that flows naturally. Son of a muse indeed, Sam thinks. </p><p>“That I am. Why have you summoned me?” </p><p>“We need information,” Sam says at the same time Dean says.  “Someone told us you know how to get into the Empty.”</p><p>. “The Empty?”</p><p>“Yeah. Big place, nothing but darkness, bad echo, run by a shapeshifting motherfucker who loves sleep,” Dean says. His entire body is tense as a wire. Now that Oryephus is here, the calm of earlier is gone. There’s a nervous energy to Dean now, shown in his absolute stillness. When most people are anxious, they can’t stop moving. Dean is the opposite: he becomes a statue. </p><p>Oryephus thinks for a moment. “Ah, yes. I am familiar. That is where my Eurydice went after her passing. The place where I failed her once more. Yes, I know the way.”</p><p>“And, you’ll tell us?”</p><p>“Why do you seek entrance to the absence of all?” Oryephus says, walking forward a step. He doesn’t leave the spell circle. “It’s master is a fickle creature and is not one to allow trespassers.”</p><p>“We need to rescue a friend,” Sam says. Oryephus doesn’t even to turn to look at him when he replies. He is focused entirely on Dean. </p><p>“A friend, you say? A friend inspires this level of devotion?”</p><p>“He’s family,” Dean says, gruffly. </p><p>“You remind me of a song I knew,” Oryephus says. He begins to sing, not a proper concert, but the clear beginning of a ballad.</p><p>“<em> Oh muses, sing me of Achilles,  </em></p><p>
  <em> great warrior of the Greeks,  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> who’s weakness was not his heel but his heart.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sing me of the man,  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> warrior with bloody hands,  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> who bathed Patroclus clean, </em>
</p><p><em> who’s grief turned him monstrous </em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Sam knows this story. Who doesn’t? Pop culture has adapted it plenty. Achilles and the fall of Troy. </p><p>“Enough about Brad Pitt,” Dean says, before Oryephus can start on the second stanza. The bard’s hands drop from the strings. “How to get in. Tell us.”</p><p>“I can do so, if you promise not to interrupt my performance again.”</p><p>Dean throws up his hands, kicking at the floor. “Oh come on, you’re not seriously going to sing us the instructions?” Oryephus is unphased by his fit. </p><p>“How else will you remember my instructions?”</p><p>“Bards used to memorize stories through song,” Sam whispers to Dean, leaning towards his brother. He is thankful for taking one class in Classics while in college, as much as he loathed it at the time. “The melody made it easier to memorize. The Odyssey and the Iliad-“</p><p>“Bore me to death later, Sam.” Dean reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He turns to Orepheus. “Do you allow recordings at concerts?”</p><p>Orepheus plucks a few strings of the lyre. He looks to be using the same amount of force Sam used earlier, but the notes are entirely different. They hum in the air, echoing for seconds before fading. “I do not know what you mean but if it will not interrupt my performance, I will consider it acceptable.”</p><p>“Alright then, hit it.”</p><p>The  song that follows is beautiful, and Sam is thankful Dean thought to record it as he gets lost in the melody. It’s a lament, wistful and sorrow. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Dear mortals, hear my tale, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> of a land dark as pitch </em>
</p><p>
  <em> where Gods were sent upon their demise </em>
</p><p>
  <em> to regret eternal the ways of man. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> This place took my Eurydice, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> stole her from the land of Hades. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And so I begged it’s Master </em>
</p><p>
  <em> to grant me passage to retrieve her. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It’s Master was a fickle being, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> who sought the rest of Hypnos.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> They came upon my lyre playing, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> which disturbed their rest. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Along with a bowl of mermaids scales, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> and Siren’s feathers. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Dear Shadow,” I sang </em>
</p><p>
  <em> my heart consumed with grief, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Please allow me my Eyurdice, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> and I shall leave you to your rest.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The Shadow laughed at me, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> and responded in the guise of my own visage. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Why should I allow you passage,” they said.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “For this is the land of Endings.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I asked them to explain and this is what they spoke </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Your wife has reached the end of her tale,” the Shadow said, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> playing back a bitter tune.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You are a storyteller, are you not? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Why should I let you ruin the ending?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I thought upon this for a time, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> and replied in song as well. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Allow me to attempt to retrieve my wife,” I said, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “And you will gain a story far better. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I shall tell you of it now. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And you shall see it has yet to be finished.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> And so I sang to them of our love. </em>
</p><p><em>And when I finished they relented. </em><em><br/></em> <em>I would gain access to the land of Empty promises. </em></p><p>
  <em> Under conditions that they requested. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You surely know the rest of the tale, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> which is far more famous than I. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> For I did give the Shadow a better ending, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> but I left with hands emptier, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> than the land I traveled to tell it. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>With the last note, Orepheus vanishes. The lyre remains behind, still in the chair he sat in, though the strings are gone, burnt up with his exit. Dean groans, and walks over to the wall, kicking it with his shoe.</p><p>“Of course he had to do it in a fucking song. Oh course. No straight information, no, that’s too easy, we have to deliver this shit as garbled as possible. Fucking bards.” HE shakes his head and looks at Sam. “So what, I’m just supposed to convince the Empty to let me in so it can fuck me over?”</p><p>“I don’t think so,” Sam says and gestures for Dean to give him his phone. He replays the song once, then twice. “I’ll have to write down the lyrics, but it doesn’t sound like you have to talk them into it.. More like you have to convince them it’s worth their while.”</p><p>“With what, a song?” Dean asks, then blinks a few times, clearly recalling something. “Wait, not a song. A story. That’s what he said right?. It was a story.”</p><p>“An unfinished story.” Sam thinks it over for a second. “I mean, I guess that makes sense. He said the Empty was the place of Endings. So if you told them a story that wasn’t finished-”</p><p>“They might give you the person back to see it completed,” Dean says, a grin starting to spread across his face. There’s real hope in his eyes, the kind of hope Sam has seen in only limited quantities since Chuck was defeated. “That’s probably how Chuck did it with Cas and Lucifer before right: told the shithead a story to get them back.”</p><p>“And how Cas got back the second time,” Sam says, remembering Cas’ story on how he escaped from the Empty. It always bothered Sam, how easy it seemed. If one could bother their way out of the afterlife, wouldn’t a lot more dead angels and demons be wandering about? “He said he told the Empty he had stuff left here, didn’t he? That’s an open end.”</p><p>Dean pulls out his phone. “I think we can get the ingredients he mentioned within a week or two. Maybe less if you ask Rowena. Hell probably has a crap ton of spell stuff.” He looks from his phone to Sam and his eyes are wide, smile infectious.”We can do this. We can actually do this. We just gotta convince the bastard that Cas isn’t done.” </p><p>Sam nods, feeling a smile spread across his own face until a realization hits him. It must show on his face before Dean’s grin falters. </p><p>“What?” Dean asks. Sam shifts his weight from one foot to another.</p><p>“Uh, do you know anything about telling a good story?” Sam asks.</p><p>The responding “son of a bitch” can be heard throughout the bunker.</p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> So we talked to Orpheus. He gave us instructions on how to get you out of the Empty, and I think we got it.  I’m going to call up Rowena for help on it. I know she’s the queen of Hell, but she’s always liked you. If it all works as planned, we’ll have you back within two weeks. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Dean told me what happened to you, at least the bare bones of it. About the deal and the true happiness thing. I’m mad you didn’t tell us, but mostly I’m just confused why that’s when it came due. From what little I know, it didn’t sound like a happy moment with Death on your ass. Dean seems to know more, but he didn’t want to elaborate. He said it was your business.  </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> I can’t say I don’t have suspicions, but I’m not going to force it out of him. Hopefully we’ll have you back soon enough that you can tell me yourself. If you want, that is.  </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Rowena meets him at the entrance to hell (which is currently in a shut down Amazon warehouse outside of Kansas city) wearing a pantsuit with a v-neck taking the full plunge. Sam hugs her when he sees her, and while she’s a bit incoperal, she’s solid enough to hug. They talk the spell components for a bit, then of Orpheus (Rowena is a fan), and dissent in hell (taken care of with a little persuasive spellcasting).. It is only once Sam is getting ready to leave that she switches topics to Dean.</p><p>“How’s Dean?”</p><p>Sam tucks the ingredients in his backpack, wrapping them in an old t-shirt so they won’t be damaged on the drive back. Dean is back at the Bunker, working on writing a story good enough to convince the Empty to return their angel to sender. Sam has even caught him watching Masterclass videos on writing of all things. “He’s...Dean.”</p><p>“Descriptive as ever, I see, Samuel,” Rowena says, leaning back against the doors that lead to Hell. She taps her fingernails against the brick wall next to it.  “I know Dean and I have had our disagreements in the past-” She ignores Sam’s stifled snort of laughter at that statement. “ But I do hope this ends well for him. And for your feathery friend.” </p><p>There’s something about her tone that grabs Sam’s attention. “You’re not talking about just getting him out of the Empty, are you?”</p><p>She shrugs. “Perhaps. I doubt that comes as a surprise to you unless you aren’t as perceptive as I thought.”</p><p>Sam isn’t quite sure what to say. He knows what Rowena’s talking about, how could he not with a decade of prolonged staring contests, longing glances and arguments that made him feel like a child in the middle of a divorce. But he’s only ever talked about it to a select few; sharing his brothers business wasn't his place. The only reason he’d spoken to their Charlie and Eileen about it was that they’d been the ones to bring it up. A few years ago, he wouldn’t have trusted Rowena with information about his brother’s favorite color. Now things are different. </p><p>“I’ve noticed, yeah,” Sam says. </p><p>“Everyone has noticed it except for the parties involved,” Rowena says, waving her hand about. Despite her tapping against the bricks, her manicure remains perfect. “Did you know my son had a betting pool running for it?” Sam is surprised, for only a moment before he realizes that <em> of course </em>Crowley had a betting pool. It would be more surprising if he didn’t. “My first week down here someone called to ask if I would be continuing the practice and if I could put them down for next month. Apparently Azmodeus shut it down after Fergus and many were quite irate about it.”</p><p>“Did you start it back up?”</p><p>Rowena reminds Sam of a fox sometimes, with her fiery red hair and tricky manner. In this moment, she reminds him of the animal again, when her smile turns coy and mischievous.“That depends. Do you want in?”</p><p>Sam rolls his eyes and texts Dean about gaining the spell ingredients. He ignores Rowena pulling out a notebook as she wonders out loud who is down for two weeks from now. As he sets to leave, she calls after him.</p><p>“Please let me know when I should congratulate the happy couple. There’s a lot of money on the line!”</p><p>“I’m not reporting to you on my brother’s romantic life. Unlike you, I value privacy.”</p><p>“You say that now, but wait until you hear the amount on the line, Samuel!”</p><p>Sam doesn’t respond, only rolling his eyes  as he exits the side door of the warehouse.</p><hr/><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> So, we got the spell components. Pretty simple stuff honestly except for the big piece. Get this: Apparently, we have to tell a story about you. The idea is if you can tell the Empty a story good enough, they’ll let you go out of curiosity to see how it ends. Which I guess explains how you got out the first time and how Chuck brought back Lucifer (don't worry, we took care of it). And why Jack can’t get you out now: he has trouble even summarizing movies. Anyway, Dean is writing up something that will hopefully match the world’s most annoying fake prophet. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Hopefully we aren’t judged on craftsmanship. Given Chuck, I don’t think we have to worry about that. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> In other news, Garth and Bess are having a vows renewal. Something about the world almost ending, which fair. They haven’t set a date yet: Garth wants to wait until you’re back so you can attend.  </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> I don’t think you’ve been to a wedding before, at least not where people can see you. You might like them: they’re happy sort of deals. Lots of food. Lots of dancing. The dancing and food are optional so don’t worry if you can’t do either. I can’t dance myself so you’ll have me at least on the sidelines while Dean goes and embarrasses us both. Have you ever seen him dance? He thinks he’s great but it’s a disaster, trust me.  </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> He’d probably dance with you, if you asked. If you want to, that is.  Up to you. Not that it’s my business.  </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> I just want you two to be happy, you know that right? </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><hr/><p>If someone asked Sam when he knew that Castiel’s feelings for his brother weren’t exactly platonic, Sam would have trouble placing the exact moment. Because he suspected for a long time, noting long stares and invasions of personal space that were a little much. But knowing and suspecting are two different things, and the moment he knew, that he can remember with a startling clarity. </p><p>Sam remembers a lot of revelations of his life with startling clarity. Most of them are bad moments: Dean’s many deaths, Ruby betraying him, Lucifer’s face in the cage. This memory is not one of those. It is at worst, bittersweet.</p><p>Back when Dean was possessed by Michael, Sam had caught Cas in Dean’s room. It was a few days after the incident with the demons, and Sam was filled with worry for his friend who always reacted poorly to being a damsel in distress. When he hadn’t found Cas in his usual haunts (the library, the alcove by the telescope, his own room), he went to check Dean’s room on a hunch that he couldn’t quite place. It was there he found the angel, looking over Dean’s desk with an expression Sam wouldn’t have thought the him capable of when they first met. His face was tired, creased with lines and circles that spoke to  a lack of sleep that he didn’t even need. It was the look of someone carrying a weight no person should bare. Sam’s recognized it well: he saw it whenever he looks in a mirror those days.</p><p>“Hey Cas,” Sam said, standing in the doorway. Cas started, and it was off putting to see him caught by surprise”. He appeared almost guilty. Sam walked over and looked down to see what Cas was looking at. On the desk was a tape, a fresh label pressed to the front. On it, in Castiel’s neat handwriting was the following:  “Cas’ Top 13 Tracks.” </p><p>“It was going to be a gift,” Cas said, shoving his hands in his trench coat pockets. It was a newer coat too, one Dean bought him after his last one got soaked in blood. “I went to the local library to ask them for help making it. Ms. Lin was very helpful.”</p><p>Sam wondered what the librarian thought of Cas, coming up to the front desk to ask about the particulars of making a mixtape on a medium no one has used in over a decade. “Was she?”</p><p>“She was very enthusiastic,” Cas said. “She also said something about copyright, but I’m afraid I didn’t understand the particulars.” He let out a little sigh, tired. “I was going to give it to him after we finished our trip back from Apocalypse world. A celebration gift. But-”</p><p>The silence sat in the room. Sam reached forward and picked up the tape, glancing at the track listing. Cas asking him about bands Dean might enjoy a few months back suddenly made a lot more sense. Some of Sam’s suggestions were listed there, along with a pop track that Sam chuckled at.</p><p>“Jerome by Lizzo?” Sam asked. Cas rolled his eyes. </p><p>“Dean’s obsession with classic rock and conventional masculine music prevents him from hearing things that may actually enjoy if he were to shred his pride. I believe he would find that track in particular captivating if he gave it a try. It has what they call “Soul.”</p><p>“Hey, hey, I believe you man, you don’t have to explain yourself. Sam read the rest of the track listing. It was clear Cas put a lot of time in song selection given his defense of Lizzo. Sam idly wondered if Cas knew the implications of giving someone a mixtape. If he did, would he even care? Or would it even be an accident?</p><p>“His absence is different,” Cas said, redirecting Sam’s attention. “I have missed things before: heaven, my wings, my powers. And I have missed people: my siblings, my friends, you, Jack.” He shot Sam a sincere smile. “But this feels...different. Like there is a part of myself that is missing.” Cas looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes. “Perhaps it is because I know he is out there, but I keep seeing him. Not actually seeing him, but...I don’t know what to call it. Seeing a memory of him, I suppose. Or filling in the empty places he should be.” </p><p>Sam knew the feeling. He had experienced this too with Jess so long ago. The memory of someone so critical to your life being just out of the corner of your eye. </p><p>“I don’t understand why,” Cas said, his voice soft like he’s forgotten Sam was there. “He’s still out there. He’s alive. But he is suffering and I cannot fix it. Michael broke his promise to him and I cannot help him. Instead, I make rash decisions that cost us precious time-”</p><p>“Hey, hey, stop that,” Sam said, recognizing the self loathing train from years of his own thoughts and living with Dean. “I told you, what happened wasn’t your fault and I would have done it myself if I thought of it first.”</p><p>Cas opened one eye to look at Sam and sighed. “I know. It is just...painful, I suppose. To see him and know that it is not the real but a wish made manifest by brain chemistry. Apparently even angels are not immune to the feeling of helplessness.”</p><p>Sam opened his mouth to chime in then stopped as he realized what he was about to say. What words he was going to speak in the emptiness of Dean’s bedroom.</p><p>
  <em> “You love him.” </em>
</p><p>The thought hit Sam like a train, one that was in the distance forever but only has just arrived at the station. Is this what prophets felt like when they put all the pieces together? No wonder Donnie was always half out of it. Sam felt at once both brilliant and incredibly stupid. It wasn’t like he hadn’t known. He just hadn’t put it all together.</p><p><em> Cas is in love with Dean, </em> he thought. Then, shortly after: <em> oh so much makes sense now. </em> Then a second later: <em> I’m so fucking stupid, how did I ever get into college. </em></p><p>“Sam?” Cas asked, tilting his head just a fraction. Sam tried to school his expression from “finally figuring out a mystery a decade in the making” to “casual conversation.” “Is something wrong?”</p><p>“No, no,” Sam clapped  Cas’ shoulder and tried very hard not to blurt out dozen of questions that came to mind. Did Cas know he’s in love? If so, for how long? Has he assumed Sam knew, too or does he know Sam’s an idiot? Has everyone cracking jokes over the years known too, or is Sam the only one in the dark?</p><p>No, Sam thought. Sam wasn’t the last one to know. Dean still didn’t.</p><p>“Wanna get a drink?” Sam asked. He put the tape back down on the desk and steered Cas towards the door. “I got some fun Dean stories to share. You know, to keep our spirits up.”</p><p>Cas looked down at the tape then back up at Sam. Sam was still holding his shoulder, grip tight. “Yes. I have some of my own I can share as well.”</p><p>“Cool, let’s go.”</p><p>They left the room with the door closed. That night Sam shared a collection of Dean stories when they first got on the road together, and in turn Cas told him about some of their misadventures when the apocalypse raged and Sam thought his brother would never speak to him again. He almost spat out his beer when Cas mentioned the brothel and when Jack joins them, they pivot the stories to more age appropriate misadventures.</p><p>It was the first night that Sam noticed Cas’ smile when he talks about Dean. In those moments, the years of death and misery slid off him for a moment, clouds parting way for a glimpse of radiant sunlight. </p><p><em> “Dean </em> ,” Sam thought, tipsy and thus prone to sentiment. “ <em> If there’s any chance this could work, I hope you get your head out of you ass and see what’s standing right in front of you. Because the both of you deserve it.” </em></p><hr/><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> [a photo is attached of Dean looking away from the camera. Bee hives are in the distance. He is wearing a bright yellow shirt with a cartoon bee and the following text “save the bees!] </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Hey, you will not believe what case we got lately. Haunted bee hives of all things, can you believe it? Some vegan died and their ghost was haunting the hives. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> I thought Dean was going to want to torch them all but he was pretty insistent on saving them. I think it’s because of you, but I kept my mouth shut. He’s been less harsh lately in general. More talking instead on punching his way out of things. It’s nice. I think I get to thank you for that. Whatever you said to him stuck, I think. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> So thank you.  </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> The beekeeper was so thankful we saved his hives that he gave us some merch(who knew beekeepers had merch!). I got Dean to wear it with some brotherly magic, and I took a photo for your amusement. It’s attached. What a look, am I right? </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Don’t worry, I got one in your size too. I don’t know how it’s going to look with your trench coat but you can frame it if you think that’s better. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> We’re doing the ritual tonight. See you soon. </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><hr/><p>That night, they gather the ingredients and lights them on fire with sage. Dean has printed out his story after two weeks of research and editing back and forth with Charlie. It’s not a masterpiece, but it’s up to par for Chuck’s writing at least and they’re pretty sure that will work. </p><p>Dean is the one to read the story. It begins with Cas’ creation using what they could find from the lore, and then shifts into the story of their meeting and following adventures. Dean throws in a few jokes, but he sticks to the plot, the tale of a Fallen Angel who betrayed Heaven to save humanity from his kin. It’s captivating stuff, even with Dean’s less than stellar prose. The entire time, Sam watches for the Empty.</p><p>The Empty does not come. Sam ignores the feeling of dread in his gut, and tells Dean to read another one of the drafts, which he does. </p><p>The Empty does not come.</p><p>Sam pulls out the Supernatural books, the ones written about the Apocalypse, and reads those out as the bowl continues to burn. He focuses on the bits only about Cas as Dean hammers out a third draft of their tale, adding in scenes he cut because they didn’t seem crucial. </p><p>The Empty does not come. </p><p>It does not come that night, when the feathers and scales burn out into ash. It does not come three days later when Dean tries again with a new story he has written up while pounding beers. It does not come a week later when Dean screams his story at the empty wall, and Sam has to drag him away to go to sleep because the spell ingredients were destroyed hours ago.  It does not come when Sam reads all of the Supernatural books while Dean sleeps off his liquor induced rage and prays that perhaps he missed a scene the Empty needed. </p><p>The Empty does not come. The ingredients burn out. There is no Castiel.</p><p>Sam has no idea what to do. </p><hr/><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> It didn’t work. I don’t understand why it didn’t work. I was sure we had it right. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> We have to get this right. Dean needs me to get this right. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> What the hell are we missing? </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
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</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>As you can all notice the chapter count increased cus this decided to develop a PLOT when I wasn't looking. Happens. Two more chapters and then an epilogue. Please note, this is tagged angst with a happy ending. I promise, it has a happy ending.</p><p>Jerome by Lizzo is a fantastic song and you should listen to it, and then the rest of her album. </p><p>I hope to have the next update in a week. You can chat with me about this fic at my tumblr which is goodluckdetective.tumblr.com.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Death of the Author</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sam does some ritual troubleshooting, Dean makes a confession, and Eileen tries her hand at literature critique.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After the ritual fails, Dean’s drinking swings from moderate to excessive. On days where they have a case, where they have leads and ideas, it dwindles to a beer or two. But during the spans of time they have no work at all, Sam finds him passed out under tables and in the kitchen. </p><p>It reminds Sam of the time when Jack had just arrived and they thought the last they’d seen of Cas was his body laid out next to a lakeshore, broken wings scarred into the Earth. </p><p>He usually doesn’t like to think about that period of his life, where Sam tried to hold their family together using sheer force of will. Jack scared him then, not that he liked to admit it. Because then, all Sam could think of when he saw him was Lucifer. He’d forced it down as best he could, trying to see Kelly and Cas in the kid instead of his past tormentor. He only somewhat succeeded, for which he still feels guilty for.</p><p>Dean hadn’t tried to force it down. That scared Sam too. He’d seen quite a few sides to Dean but he’d never seen him so awash in grief it made him callous. </p><p>It reminded Sam of their Dad. </p><p>He’d only talked to one person about it at the time. Mia, the shifter therapist. After the case, she’d offered them her card. Sam never planned on using it until the night after Dean decided to take a “shortcut” to talk to ghosts. He’d called her in the car while Dean was asleep in their motel room, satisfied he wasn’t about to croak. She picked up on the second ring.</p><p>“Mia Vallens speaking,”</p><p>“Hey Doctor Vallens,” Sam said, feeling uncomfortable.</p><p>“It’s a bit late for a phone call.”</p><p>“Oh. I’m sorry I-“</p><p>“But I can make an exception for you, I think. I doubt you’d call if it wasn’t something important.”</p><p>“I uh, need your advice. Your professional advice. Not monster advice. I’ll pay too, if you want.”</p><p>“I normally would insist on it, but I do owe you a favor. Now, what is the problem?”</p><p>He told her that night. Everything he could think of. He only had an hour, but he compressed in as much as he could. Most of the conversation was a blur but he can still remember one moment in particular.</p><p>“I’ve already lost one brother, you know?” Sam said back then, near the end of the hour. “ I’m barely holding it together as it is and that’s only because Mom and Jack need me to. One thing goes, and I’m not going to able to keep this up.  I can’t lose Dean. I just can’t.” Sam didn’t just mean losing his brother to a Reaper. He meant losing his brother to the bottle, or to a rage that reminded him of their father, or to a type of grief that warped a person inside out until they were no longer recognizable. </p><p>“Have you tried telling him that?”</p><p>Sam looked through the windshield, towards the motel room where Dean was sleeping. “No.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“I’m afraid it won’t make a difference.”</p><p>Sam thankfully never had to think further on that topic: Cas had called them the next day and his very presence brought Dean back to life. His brother was his brother again, not some caricature of their father during his worst days. </p><p>With the drinking, Sam is terrified that version of Dean will make a reappearance. He never does, to his relief. But it makes Sam wonder what is different this time. Is it the lack of a new worry? The possibility they can get Cas to return? Or is it something else that Sam doesn’t know? Something to do with the happy moment Cas used to summon the Empty that Dean refuses to share.</p><p>He’s not sure if he’ll like the answer. </p><hr/><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> Hey Cas, we’re back to the drawing board on the ritual. Something went wrong, we’re not quite sure what, and we’re trying to figure it out. We called up Orpheus again, and he wasn’t super helpful, so we’re looking for other avenues. Maybe someone else has pulled this off, you know? If we can find them, maybe they can help us.  </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> There is one person we could ask, but I haven’t suggested it  to Dean yet. Last resort kind of deal; he doesn’t have a motive to help us, but he has plenty to screw us over. So hopefully it doesn’t come to that.  </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Claire came by the bunker last week with Kaia. They’re a hunting duo now, and a damn good one. Dean taught Kaia the throwing trick you showed us how to do with your angel blade. She only barely made the target, but considering she just started, it’s not bad.   </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> I talked to Claire. She misses you, though I doubt she’ll ever say it. I let her know that we’d call her as soon as we get you back.  </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> I’ve attached a picture of them with Miracle. I’m still a little shocked they let me take it: maybe that dog really is a Miracle worker. Even if she gets fur all over the Bunker.  </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> [Attached is a photo of Claire and Kaia, next to Miracle. Both of the girls have new haircuts: Claire’s is a short bob and Kaia has her braided back in a tight bun. Claire is on her knees rubbing the dogs’ belly, and Miracle’s tongue lolls out of her mouth in delight. Behind her is Kaia, a foot away from the dog. She seems apprehensive about Miracle, but she is watching Claire with a fond smile and soft eyes. They both look like girls their age for once.] </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><hr/><p>The girls visit after a hunt involving an angry ghost and a cursed phone app. Kaia is clearly uncomfortable in the Bunker. Sam can understand why: with such limited exits, and places to run, it may feel more a death trap to Kaia than a refuge. The fact her first encounter with Sam and Dean involved a loaded weapon pointed at her likely didn't help. Sam tries his best to help by keeping his distance, waving at her when she passes by but never stepping in her space for the day her and Claire are there. Maybe one day she’ll be alright talking to them. Sam hopes so; he has not forgotten that Kaia was in rehab when they first met and thinks perhaps their shared issues with substance abuse might be beneficial for them both to discuss. </p><p>Claire doesn’t appear to be angry at Dean anymore. In fact, Dean is who she spends the most time with. He shows her the shooting range and they spend two hours down there testing weapons. Later, Sam finds the pair in the garage, fixing up some of the older cars while Claire teases him about being old. It’s only when Dean is busy making dinner and Kaia is watching television, that Sam finds Claire alone. He isn’t looking for her, instead leaving his room to offer his help in dinner preparation. He just notices the room to Cas’ door open a fraction and peaks inside to find Claire sitting by his bed, thumbing through a copy of “The Golden Compass.” She startles when he peers in.</p><p>“Sorry,” Sam says, taking a step back to leave. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”</p><p>“You weren’t. You-” She  chews at her bottom lip then waves her right hand. “Come in. I was snooping anyway.”</p><p>“I don’t think he’d mind,” Sam says and sits in the chair near Cas’ bed, close enough that he can see the pages of the book.. Ever since Chuck revealed himself as God in what felt like a lifetime ago, Cas had taken an interest in fictional literature. Sam never knew exactly why, but he suspects it had something to do with trying to understand his Father via his human profession. Sam was with him when Cas raided the local used book store for “heroic epics.” Books from that trip and many others, rest on Cas’ nightstand. Colorful rumpled paperbacks in a variety of languages are haphazardly stacked into two piles, one for things he already read, and one for things he needed to read. Sam can see Cas’ handwriting on the pages of the book Claire holds. This must have been the last book he read before….well, everything.</p><p> “You’re a fan of Phillip Pullman?” Sam asks.</p><p>“Who?” She looks down at the book and flips it over to the back cover. “Oh, nah. I never heard of him, just the book from the TV show and that. Weird he was reading it though; isn’t this a kid’s novel?”</p><p>“It’s for everyone.” </p><p>“Hm,” Claire hums, flipping a page. It’s clear she is reading Cas’ notes instead of the actual text itself. “He scribbled all over it like it was a class assignment or something.”</p><p>“He does that with all his books. I think it’s a habit from research work with us.” Sam cranes his neck to try to read Cas’ handwriting, but it’s too far away for him to make out. “What did he write?”</p><p>“Mostly stuff about souls and God and stuff. Some quibbling about the idea of a soul existing outside of the body. And a few things about the logistics of polar bear armor in freezing temperatures.” She shut the book and placed it on her lap. They sat there in relative silence for a moment, and Sam almost got up to leave her alone  before she spoke again. </p><p>“Is it weird I miss him?” She asked, rubbing her thumb across the cover. The corner of it was ripped and repaired with scotch tape. Back when he was a kid, a teacher told Sam that damage like that showed a book was well loved. “He ruined my life, but I miss him. I keep checking my phone expecting him to text and I keep just seeing his last message. Before everything happened. He asked me how Kaia was and sent me this.”</p><p>Claire holds up her phone. On it is a picture and Sam’s heart twists. It is from Cas’ “birthday” celebration, a silly thing they after Ms. Butters left and they caught Castiel up on all he missed. Jack insisted they throw a party for Cas too, even though he technically didn’t have a birthday. Dean is on the far left of the photo, his arm slung over Cas’ shoulder, grinning in the honest way that shows the rare laughter lines around his eyes. Jack’s face is covered in frosting from the cupcakes they made, and he smiles, Sam standing behind him with his hand on his shoulder. As for the birthday angel himself, Cas looks fondly into the camera, which Jack had held with his powers to take a picture of them all. A ridiculous cardboard birthday hat is on his head, bright green topped with a silver pom-pom. Underneath it is a simple caption. </p><p>
  <em> “Dean insisted I send you this. Is this truly a birthday custom? I do not understand the purpose of the hat.” </em>
</p><p>“It’s not weird,” Sam says. “That you miss him. Stuff with-” He almost says family but he decides against it. It feels like overstepping. “It can be complicated. You don’t have to pick one emotion.”</p><p>That’s how Sam felt regarding his own father. He misses John to this day, but he also hates him, hates what he did to Dean, hates how he raised them like soldiers instead of sons. When he was younger, right after John died, he felt terrible about that hatred, ashamed that their last conversation was yet another fight. It was only when Sam got older that he learned to carry that sense of loss and bitterness at the same time. Claire’s relationship with Cas is nothing like his Sam and John, but he understands the conflicted part of it at least.</p><p>“That’s what Jody said,” Claire mumbles. She looks up at Sam. “Dean told me you were trying to bring him back but it’s not working. Do you know why?”</p><p>“We’re trying to figure it out.”</p><p>She gets up, placing the book back on Cas’ “read” pile. The pile wobbles, but doesn’t fall. She turns to look at Sam, placing her hands in her back pockets. It reminds Sam of Dean when he was younger, trying to open up and hide at the same time. “If you guys need any help, just let me know. Kaia and I are hunting so we can follow some leads if you guys need an extra pair of hands. To look for stuff, that is.”</p><p>“I know.” Sam wonders if Claire knows Jody has offered to do the same, and that Donna called up last week checking a lead for them. Claire leaves Cas’ room, keeping the door open behind her and Sam sits, staring at the pile of books Cas had yet to read. </p><hr/><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> Hey Cas. Hope you don’t mind, but I decided to borrow some of your books. I’ve never read some of these and honestly, it feels overdue.  </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> I promise that pun was accidental.  </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Don’t worry: we’re safe and healthy for the most part. Dean is eating some salads, so maybe he’ll stop calling himself the meat man. Meanwhile, I’ve decided to try my hand at healing salves and potions from Rowena’s spellbooks. I know your grace was on the fritz, so we should probably have some back up plans for first aid. Or just so you can catch a break from being a supernatural EMT. The notes she left aren’t complete, but I’m having some luck testing them on paper cuts from all the research we’ve been doing. So far the worst side effect is a weird purple fur that grows around the wound, so I guess it could be much worse.  </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> We haven’t had any luck on leads so far. Dean has tried the ritual a few more times but we can’t seem to figure out what’s up. Rowena and Garth are asking around their respective networks to see if anyone else has attempted it. Hopefully they’ll get back to us soon. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Just in case, we’re also looking into our last resort lead as well. Hopefully he won’t be too hard to find. </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><hr/><p>Sam starts looking for Chuck on a Tuesday and finds him three days later with the help of Google, Charlie and some phone calls.</p><p>He asks Eileen if she wants to come and all she asks is the address. She’s there when Sam arrives, tapping her foot against the ground and Sam knows better than to pull her into a hug when she’s this tense.</p><p>Sam knocks on the door of the apartment. There’s no answer. He knocks again. “Chuck, I know you’re in there and you know I can open the door myself. So you can either do this the easy way-“</p><p>The door opens. Chuck stands there looking like he did back when they thought he was a prophet, robe and all. His beard is untamed, and he absolutely is in need of a shower. Eileen takes one look at him, and punches him right in the jaw. He staggers back, and holds up his hands.</p><p>“I thought you said this was the easy way-“ Chuck says. His hands make his face hard to see, so Sam signs to Eileen the translation. She shrugs but the anger in her shoulders remains. </p><p>“This was the easy way. If it was the hard way, I would have shot you and made you remove the bullet yourself.” </p><p>Chuck turns a shade of white so pale that he looks anemic. He makes no protest as they shove their way in. Sam takes  in unwashed plates and half eaten take out scattered around the kitchenette and a desk in the main room. Papers are on every surface, and Sam picks one up, scowling.</p><p>“This better not be more Supernatural.”</p><p>“It’s not. It’s a new idea. I think I’m going to call it-“ Chuck raises his hand and waves it like he’s a half-bit film student with “a vision.” Sam knew enough of those types at Standford to spot them in passing.  “Bloodlines.”</p><p>Eileen is reading a page herself, mouth twisted down in a frown. When she finishes, she crumples the paper into a ball and throws it over her shoulder. It lands in one of Chuck’s half empty take-out containers.</p><p>“It’s bad,” she says. “Get an editor. And maybe a brain.”</p><p>Chuck cringes. “It’s a first draft.”</p><p>“It should stay that way.” Eileen walks over to a chair with rips in the upholstery and sits down after sweeping off a stack of papers. Chuck twitches as they float down to the ground. Meanwhile Sam walks over to Chuck’s desk and takes in the ancient laptop next to a typewriter. There is no document in the machine.</p><p>“I assume you’re not here to kill me?” Chuck says, walking over to where Eileen sits to pick up his papers. He keeps far enough from Eileen to be out of punching range, seizing each paper with urgency. Sam watches him, this God turned washed-up writer, and hides a smile. He’d originally questioned Dean’s decision to keep Chuck alive, but now he’s seeing the appeal. </p><p>“We have questions,” Sam says. Chuck grabs the last paper from the floor and clutches them close to his chest.</p><p>“About what?”</p><p>“The Empty.”</p><p>“The Empty?” Chuck walks over to his desk and places the papers on the corner into a folder with even more papers sticking out. “What about them? Cus if you want their whole origin story, that isn’t my work. They’ve been around before everything.”</p><p>Sam files that fact away for later and presses on. “You got people out of the Empty before. How did you do it?’</p><p>Chuck stops his nervous flitting around and looks up at Sam. He tilts his head, a gesture that reminds Sam painfully of Cas. The unbridled terrifying confidence he wielded as God flickers across his face, the smug expression of  always having the upperhand. It’s an expression Sam often sees on angels, and a small part of him, the part that prayed every day for so many years, wonders how he never considered that angel’s callousness was an inherited trait from their father. </p><p>“This is about Castiel,” Chuck says. The nervousness is gone from his voice now. Chuck might not have the upperhand with his powers anymore, but he still has wealth of knowledge that Sam lacks. That’s a power within itself. He looks around the apartment, then walks over to the window. Sam knows he’s looking for the Impalla, which will be noticeably absent. When he turns back to Sam and Eileen, all traces of Chuck the bubbling prophet are gone. They are talking to the God now. “Where’s Dean?”</p><p>Sam glances down at his feet then back at Chuck. Shrugs, trying to be nonchalant. “Busy.”</p><p>“Busy. With what-”</p><p>“None of your business,” Sam interrupts. Eileen is noticeably silent, crossing her arms. Sam and her talked about this in the car, how they would pull this off. So far, she’s doing an excellent job. </p><p>“Does he even know you’re here?” There’s a glee in Chuck’s voice that makes Sam’s stomach turn. Chuck is <em> entertained </em> . “Man, Sam, haven’t you learned about the dangers of keeping secrets? Didn’t you learn your lesson after Ruby?” His grin grows wider. “After <em> Charlie </em>?”</p><p>It takes everything Sam has not to lose it right there. When he speaks next, it’s through gritted teeth. “Are you going to answer my questions or not?”</p><p>“Well, I suppose I can let a few secrets go if it means watching this shit show play out,” Chuck says, walking past Sam and sitting into his desk chair. He is no longer keeping his distance from Sam, entirely at ease. “So what did you want to know?”</p><p>Sam explains the ritual Jack gave them. What they’ve tried, what they’ve learned, and all the ways it hasn’t worked. At the end of his explanation, Chuck nods and steeples his hands. He spins around once in his chair, playing pensive. </p><p>“Look, I don’t-” Chuck scowls. “I <em> didn’t </em> control the Empty. Never have. It’s not light or darkness: it’s just absence. Nothingness. It might be older than me, it might be younger: who knows. But I never held it’s leash. If I did, that would have been a lot easier.”</p><p>“Then how did you bring back Cas before?”</p><p>Chuck holds out his hands, shrugging. “I said I didn’t control the Empty: that doesn’t mean I couldn’t work with it. It’s a cranky asshole but it understands business. Let me explain.” He reaches for one of his papers, and holds it up. The type on it is too small to read, but Chuck has crossed out entire sections with red pen. “When I created the universe and Lucifer threw his first temper tantrum, I tried to bring back some of the angels he killed and found I couldn’t. That something wouldn’t let me.”</p><p>“The Empty.”</p><p>“Yup. So I found it, and we had a conversation.” He points to the red pen on his paper and sets it down. “Think of the empty as an editor..”</p><p>“An editor?”</p><p>“Or well, maybe a publisher. Either works..  It’s grumpy, it’s tired and it hates being bothered. But mostly it likes resolutions. Kinda a stickler for them honestly.” Chuck rolls his eyes. “Death and them always were tight for that reason. They both like a tight ending. But anyway, the Empty isn’t exactly a fan of me pulling stuff out of there it considers resolved. Something about “letting stories end” and “not ruining the resolution, blah, blah.” Chuck holds up his hand and mimes it talking. Sam wonders how many times Chuck and the Empty had this conversation for Chuck to have an impression down. </p><p>“But that’s where the loophole lies,” Chuck continues, holding up a finger. “If you can convince the Empty you got a better story for it letting something go than keeping it well...it’ll cave. It’s how Orpheus got in: it wanted to see that play out. It’s why it let Castiel leave too: curious to a fault. I think Hollywood might have rubbed off on them; they say they hate sequels but they’re always a sucker for a good pitch”</p><p>Sam muses on that for a moment. It makes sense, in a weird twisted way. But it doesn’t explain the problem with the ritual. </p><p>“So why isn’t our ritual not working?” He asks. “Is our story not good enough or something?”</p><p>Chuck laughs, a short bark that sets Sam on edge. It’s not a kind laugh. </p><p>“No, no, not that. Don’t you see, Sam?” Chuck gestures to the side of the room and Sam can see a bookshelf there, lined with copies of Supernatural. “I already told that story. You think Castiel came back from Raphael and Lucifer for free? I had to tell quite the yarn to convince the Empty to let him go. And Castiel practically told him the rest of it with his deal with Jack. Tragic ending included.”</p><p>Sam feels a chill spread through his body. He knows what Chuck is getting at, he’s smart enough to connect the dots here, but he doesn’t want to. Because if Chuck is saying what Sam thinks he’s saying, then there’s no chance in hell of getting Cas back. All of their hard work will have been for nothing. It’s over. </p><p>Chuck leans forward in his chair, placing his head in his hands. There’s pity on his face, but it’s the kind of pity Sam wore on his face when soulless; an empty mockery of the real emotion. </p><p>“You’re telling a story that’s already been told, Sam,” Chuck says, voice soft, a smile growing on his face. “With a great ending too, if I say so myself. I've never been good at love stories, but hey, I'm seeing the appeal with the whole "tragic lost love" thing. Castiel heading off to the Empty all to save Dean? That’s the last page. And it’s going to stay the last page.”</p><p>Sam punches him. </p><p>The crack of Chuck’s nose breaking under his fist doesn’t help the despair surging through his mind, but at least it takes that look of amused delight off his face.</p><hr/><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> [A photo file is attached. It is of Chuck’s face, close up, with a clearly broken and bloody nose. He’s holding a bag of frozen pees to it and looks absolutely miserable.] </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Cas, your Dad fucking sucks.  </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><hr/><p>Once they get a mile away from Chuck’s apartment, Sam calls Dean. Eileen is in the car behind him. Before they left Chuck’s place, they took all his drafts of Supernatural with them. There’s a full file cabinet of what-ifs in Eileen’s back seat.</p><p>“Did he buy it?” Dean asks as soon as he picks up the phone. </p><p>“Yeah. You were right. He told us everything as soon as he thought I was keeping it from you.” When Dean brought the idea up to Sam, about playing this whole “Sam working in secret” idea, he’d been doubtful. It seemed too easy a con for Chuck to fall for. But Dean had insisted and so Sam had set off with Eileen in tow. As soon as he saw the enraptured expression on Chuck’s face at the sight of Dean’s absence, he knew his brother had been right. </p><p>“Nice thing about writers,” Dean says. “They love their tropes. Makes them predictable if they’re not careful.” He pauses before he speaks next.  “So what’s the scoop? Why isn’t our ritual working?”</p><p>Sam doesn’t know what to say. The quick high from tricking and punching Chuck is gone, replaced by the dread of delivering bad news. </p><p>“Sam?” Dean’s voice is worried now. He’s not dumb; he knows if Sam got good news, he would have told him from the jump. Sam can see him in his mind’s eye bracing himself against something solid like the kitchen counter or the giant table in the center of the war room. His older brother bracing himself for another hit.</p><p>It’s not fair. <em> It’s not fair. </em> They won. Dean should be getting good news, not another pile of shit to add onto the tragedy that is their life.</p><p>Sam tells him anyway. </p><hr/><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> So, I went to see Chuck. He’s living in a shitty dive of an apartment these days, writing garbage and living off microwave meals. We thought he might know what’s going wrong with the ritual to get you back since he’s done it before. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> The news wasn’t great. I don’t want to believe he’s telling the truth, but I’m pretty sure he wasn’t lying. I still clocked him in the face, though. It made me feel better.  </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Dean isn’t doing great. I’m worried about him, man. He’s drinking again and… </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> He told me what you said. Cas, man, you have to come back, you can’t just leave with that. You can’t. I know you did it to save him, I do but Dean’s wrecked. I shouldn’t tell you this but he thinks he’s cursed or something. That everything that loves him dies. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Cas, I’m terrified if you don’t come back, this might end up killing him. Just slow. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> I’ve had too much to drink. I’m sorry. It’s been a long few days. </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><hr/><p>Sam gets his answer about how Cas died the day after he returns home from talking with Chuck. Dean is absolutely trashed in the library, books swept off the table and onto the floor. He sways as Sam comes in and when he doesn’t tell Sam to leave, Sam goes to the books and picks them up with care. Eileen, trailing behind him, pats Sam’s shoulder and leaves for the guest room. She’s smart enough to know this isn’t her conversation to have.</p><p>“Fucking useless,” Dean says as Sam places the books back on the table. “Those books. Useless.”</p><p>“We just need to look closer,” Sam says. “Chuck might have been lying. He does that.” </p><p>“You seriously believe that?” Dean growls, glaring up at him. Sam wants to lie, but Chuck’s glee when he thought Sam was doing just that stops him. </p><p>“No. But I want to.”</p><p>Rage vanishes from Dean’s features and he slumps over, head in his hands. His fingers tangle in his hair. When he speaks next, Sam can hear a wobble in his voice. He knows that wobble. It is when his brother is trying to hold back tears.</p><p> “I didn’t tell you everything. About what happened to Cas.”</p><p>“You don’t have to-” Dean removes a hand from his face to wave off Sam’s interruption. Sam shuts up, and trying to make as little noise as possible, takes a seat next to his brother. Dean doesn’t look at him as he continues to talk. </p><p>“His happiest moment-” Dean inhales a deep breath. “He told me he loved me. That he loved the world because of me, that I was more than what Chuck wanted me to be in his stupid stories. That was his moment of true happiness. Telling some college dropout he loves him. And you know what I did.” Sam doesn’t answer, just waits for Dean to say his piece. “Absolutely nothing.”</p><p>Sam takes that in. All the pieces of Dean’s behavior come together at once, painting a picture that hurts to look at. The guilt, the drinking, the staring at the wall where Cas vanished mouth parted as if stuck on words he couldn’t quite say. Sam tries to imagine what that would be like, if Eileen had done something like that for him and the idea is so horrifying he can’t hold it in his brain. </p><p>“What did you want to say?” Sam asks. He knows the answer already, the true one that Dean probably won’t tell him, but it feels important to ask. Dean looks up at him, eyes red. </p><p>“I don’t know. Don’t die to save my ass you stupid shit? Don’t fucking leave me with this fucking mess?” He reaches forward for his drink and takes another swig. “I still don’t know what I should have said. I just should have said…” He waves his hand. “Something. Dude gave me a speech and got jackshit. And he was still happy with that. Happy to get no answer at all.”</p><p>“He loved you, Dean,” Sam keeps his voice gentle. It’s the wrong thing to say. Dean stands up, his chair falling behind him and clattering to the ground. </p><p>“And that killed him, Sam! It killed him!” He stands up arruptly, the chair he was sitting on clattering to the floor behind him. He walks away from the table, then back, hands tangling in his hair. “I didn’t give him anything but misery and trouble and I still killed him. And he was happy with that!”</p><p>“Dean, you didn’t-”</p><p>“Yes, I did.” Dean is shouting now. “You wanna know why I didn’t say shit back? Besides the shock?” He turns on his heel to look at Sam and tears are flowing freely down his face now. “ I thought that maybe, if I kept my mouth shut, it might keep the Empty from coming. That if I didn’t give him shit to work with, he might be miserable enough to stay right there. And then at least we’d both die for my mistakes instead of him falling on his sword.” He yanks at his hair, enough to hurt. “But no. He died for me and he died with nothing but my stupid blank face staring back at him.”</p><p>“Dean-” Sam gets up and takes a step towards him. Dean is shaking now, like he’s freezing, like he’s about to fall apart.</p><p>“I don’t even know if he meant it the way I thought he did. He’s an angel Sammy, and I’m some asshole who ruins everything I touch-”</p><p>“Dean-”</p><p>“I’m fucking poison. Everything, everything I care about dies. It always does and I’m stuck here-”</p><p>Sam is close enough to pull Dean into a hug and he does so. Dean doesn’t resist, and Sam lets him scream and yell into his shirt like Dean hugged him over a decade ago when Jess died. Tries to give him something stable to hold onto when the world seems to be falling apart. </p><p>“He said I don’t see myself right,” Dean mumbles into his shirt after the sobbing has stopped. “That I’m more than a killer or something like that. And I’ve been trying to be that, be what he thought I could be, and it hurts.”</p><p>Sam smiles despite the tears in his own eyes, feeling a rush of fondness for Cas. He pats Dean’s back once and pulls away so he can look his brother in the eye. Dean is a mess of snot and tears, but he’s stable enough to keep Sam’s gaze.</p><p>“Dean,” Sam says, hand still on his brother’s shoulder. “You already are who he said you were. You’re just starting to see it.”</p><p>Dean is silent at that. He walks over to the table and looks at the books. </p><p>“I’m not giving up. I don’t care what Chuck says. I’m not.”</p><p>Sam walks up next to him, picking up one of the books himself. It’s a statement that Dean isn’t alone in this even if he feels like it. Cas is family. “Neither am I. Same with everyone else we have looking.”</p><p>Dean reaches for the liquor bottle on the table. To Sam’s surprise, he twists back on the cap and pushes it over to Sam’s side of the table.</p><p>“Put this away. If I have anymore, I’m going to hate myself in the morning.”</p><p>Sam does as asked. When he gets back, Dean is reading one of the books, clearly too drunk to take any of it in, but still trying. Sam grabs a blanket from one of the chairs and throws it over Dean. His elder brother doesn’t argue over being fussed over. </p><p>Maybe he’s finally learned that he can let others take care of him too. </p><hr/><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <br/>
    <em> Cas, I’m sorry about my last text. This isn’t on you. I’m sorry.  </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Look, I’m not stupid. I know you might not ever come back and this whole texting thing might be some sort of new age coping mechanism. But given my history with grief, I think I could do far worse in terms of coping mechanisms. So I don’t plan to stop. Hope that’s okay with you. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> I don’t plan to stop looking either. I don’t care what Chuck says.  After Purgatory, I don’t want to accept defeat again until I have to. And that’s when I’m dead.  </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><hr/><p><br/>Somewhere in the quest of “get this ritual to work because fuck Chuck” Eileen suggests they should look through the manuscripts they took from Chuck. It’s solid logic, Chuck told a story that got things out of the Empty before. Maybe they can find something that’s missing from Chuck’s narratives that they can use themselves to make a new tale.  It can’t hurt to look at the material to see if he left anything out.</p><p>Or, well, it shouldn’t hurt. But it does. Because the manuscripts they took, the ones not published in Chuck’s books, are just his dozens of endings for the Winchester brothers. </p><p>Billie wasn’t lying about one thing: Chuck did like only one type of ending.</p><p>Neither Sam and Dean make it past the final page alive. In most, one kills the other, though in a couple the text is merciful enough to have their demise be by something other than each other. This Sam expects, given his previous visions. He’s seen enough of Chuck’s drafts in movie theater high definition to know that’s coming. It’s what happens to everyone else that catches him by surprise.</p><p>None of the endings have Cas in them. Or Jack. Or Eileen. Or any other members of their little patchwork family. Chuck had only written out the last chapters of each ending but on the front page of each draft contains notes that write their family out of the final chapter. In most, they meet a bloody end, either to lead Sam or Dean to their inevitable conclusion or just to get them out of the way. Others are kinder, with them safe hiding away or retiring off in the distance. In a few, they just aren’t mentioned, out of sight and out of Chuck’s mind. But in general, there are three patterns.</p><ol>
<li>Chuck seems to have no idea what to do with Jack and his endings vary the most across the drafts. The kid swings widely from villain, to hero, to bystander, to tragic loss, to unmentioned. Chuck’s notes seem almost frantic in the sections Jack is mentioned, a palpable frustration of what to do with the nephilim screaming off the page. </li>
<li>Eillen’s fate switches from dead to absent without another word. The drafts where she dies are hard to read even though the death scenes aren’t actually written out, just noted in chicken-scratch handwriting. There’s something brutal about seeing a death planned so haphazardly, like it is an item on a grocery list. The drafts where she simply vanishes are disquieting for different reasons. In the ones where Sam has his head on straight, he doesn’t seem to be bothered by her disappearance in his life at all. Like the last few years of love and loss never happened. In one draft, Sam kills Dean and settles down with a woman who isn’t even named. Like anyone could step into Eileen’s role in Sam’s life and it wouldn’t make a difference. </li>
<li>Cas gets the absolute worst endings. He almost always dies, in the most brutal ways possible. In some, Sam and Dean kill him themselves. In others, Chuck murders him with just a snap. Even in the endings where Cas lives, it is not much of a life. He’s either trapped away in a box, or in purgatory. Multiple feature him  brainwashed back into Heaven’s perfect little soldier. The worst by far is the one where Dean dies and Cas is left standing by his grave for all eternity, keeping watch. Like that’s all Cas is good for: watching over the Winchesters.</li>
</ol><p>If it wasn’t for the potential insight the drafts provide, Sam would have burned them all. He still wants to. He’s sure he’d get a sense of satisfaction seeing Chuck’s plans for them go up in literal smoke. </p><p>Eileen and Dean both know about the drafts. Eileen wants to read them herself, and Sam lets her. She takes particular offense to the one where Sam marries a nameless blonde after killing Dean with a tire iron when he goes mad with Croatoan virus. </p><p>“<em> It doesn’t even mention what happens to me, </em> ” she signs to him, pouting. “ <em> I’m not even named. </em>”</p><p>“Maybe we broke up?” Sam says, looking at the draft in her hands. It’s draft number twenty. </p><p>“I guess,” Eileen says, speaking while she uses her hands to flip a page. “But if we broke up, I’d still check on you. You’re my friend.”</p><p>“Maybe it was a really bad breakup?”</p><p>She crinkles her nose in disgust. “Then I’d at least send a half-assed sympathy card.” </p><p>Sam loves her so much. He grabs the draft she’s holding, crosses out the draft number and replaces it with “The One Without a Half-Assed Sympathy Card.” He passes it back to Eillen and she rolls her eyes. </p><p><em> “Friends?” </em> She signs. <em> “Really?” </em></p><p>They do title some of the others, for both easy reference and to help make the entire process a bit less grim. All the ones that involve Chuck pulling someone from the Empty go into a special pile. Sam doubts they’ll come in handy, but he can hope. </p><p>Dean doesn’t read the drafts after he flips through two and declares them “disturbing garbage.” He sticks to looking for anyone who has pulled off the ritual instead, though it becomes clearer by the day he’s losing hope on that panning out. Sam gives him reports on the endings of note and after summarizing a few one day, Dean leans back in his chair in the library and looks up to the ceiling. </p><p>“What the fuck man?”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“I mean what the fuck. I get he wanted us to do a whole Cain and Abel thing, I mean I get it as much as I can get a boat-load of crazy, but all this shit with our friends. It’s just so overkill.”</p><p>Sam nods. “I know.”</p><p>“I mean why bother fucking with them too?”</p><p>Sam thinks about it. “I think,” he says, thoughtful. “If he didn’t, they would try to stop us. And that would ruin his-”</p><p>“If you say story Sam, I swear to-” Dean cuts off and almost growls in frustration. “Fuck, I need a new phrase. You know what I mean.." Dean rubs his right temple with two fingers, like he's trying to stave off a headache. “Like, shit man. If it wasn’t fucked enough already, I mean, think about Cas. That’s his Dad. And he keeps doing this to him.”</p><p>“Yeah, he seems to hold a grudge.” That seems like an understatement. </p><p>“Probably because Cas messed with his story in the first place. You remember what Chuck said? All the other Castiel’s followed their orders. It was just ours who went rogue. </p><p>Sam considers that, what their lives would be like if Cas just followed orders. He pictures himself in a tacky white suit and shudders. “I’m glad he did.”</p><p>“Me too.” Dean reaches for a worn copy of "The Hobbit" on the table next to him and opens it. There's a bookmark in the pages, made from old newspapers. Sam recognizes it and the book itself. </p><p>“Is that Cas’?” Sam asks, pointing to the book. Dean glances down at it and nods.  </p><p>“Yeah. I’ve been trying to read more, now that God isn’t plotting our demise. And with us possibly retiring once we get Cas back, I should get some more hobbies.”</p><p>Sam nods. He doesn’t mention that Dean has read “The Hobbit” before, that he’s probably read it more times than Sam. He doesn’t mention that Dean has his own copy too, that the only difference between Dean’s and Cas’ is the Cas’ has his notes in them. Traces of the angel whose absence echoes throughout the bunker. The books are words from Cas that Dean can still access. </p><p>Two days later, they decide to go on a hunt near a pie festival. Eileen stays at the Bunker, and Sam kisses her goodbye. He makes sure to pack the extra healing salve from Rowena’s records with him, just in case of an emergency. The formula isn’t working perfectly enough for him to test on injured  civilians, but hunts always involve a bruise or bump that might be great for a trial run.</p><p>Later, sitting in the hospital chapel as Dean undergoes emergency surgery, praying to Jack with all he has, Sam tries not to think about what might have happened if he left his rudimentary forays into witchcraft at home.  </p><hr/><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em> Dean is hurt. Bad. They don’t know if he’ll make it. </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> I can’t do this again.  </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em> Chuck isn’t writing the script anymore so why do we keep losing? </em>
  </p>
</blockquote>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey everyone! Thanks for sticking with me this far! Those who are leaving comments: you guys are the reason I’m keeping at this fic and I treasure every single one of you. It doesn’t matter how small the comment (tho I adore the long ones): you guys are the real MVPs. <br/>For those worried about the cliffhanger, do not fret: major character death isn’t tagged for a reason. <br/>I adore writing Chuck. He’s such a great villain and I feel the show did him a disservice in how they wrote him. So enter me, stage left, with this fucking fanfic document and the will to do it myself. <br/>Next chapter will ideally be out in a week where we’ll finally stop being angsty all the time. If you want progress updates or to ask me questions, feel free to check out my blog on tumblr @goodluckdetective. I promise, I’m funny. Or at least I think I am. </p><p> </p><p>Anyway, trivia time!<br/>1. I think most folks are familiar with “His Dark Materials” given the television show and the earlier (and quite bad) movie but for those who aren’t, the series involves God as an antagonistic (at best) figure. I thought it a good fit for Castiel’s reading list as he’d likely find both engaging and relevant to his current situation.</p><p>2. The Lord of The Rings books I included because 1. I love Lord of the Rings and 2. Cas has referenced it before and 3. I think Cas would have a fictional crush on Aragorn who reminds him of a certain hunter he knows. Cas, you have a type and I see you.</p><p>3. I have never seen an episode of Friends and I have no intention to, but I know enough about it to make fun of it. </p><p>4. Bloodlines was a backdoor Supernatural spinoff in season 9 that didn’t do well which was a shame because it had a much more diverse cast than the main show. The fault lies in the script which had so many problems.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Greatest Love Story Never Told</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sam hates hospitals, the gang takes a crack at oral history and Dean finally tells his own story.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dean is in surgery for ten hours before Sam hears he’s stable. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t even remember calling Jody. Somewhere between giving the staff the fake insurance papers and sitting down with a cup of hospital coffee he must have; his phone has a smear of blood over the screen and she’s texted him that “she’s on her way.” After a few sips of the coffee, now cold, he manages to text a few others. Garth, Charlie, Donna and Eillen all get an identical message.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hunt went wrong. Dean in emergency surgery: unsure if he’ll make it. I’ll send updates.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charlie is the first to respond, with a promise to make sure their fake insurance is up to date. When Sam opens her text, below it he finds that he also texted Cas somewhere between the barn and the hospital. He doesn’t remember doing that either. It was just instinct. Dean is hurt, make sure to tell Cas. He even sent the address of the hospital they’re at, like Cas could just come over from the Empty as long as he had directions. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The coffee cup in Sam’s free hand shakes. He’s thankful it’s no longer hot less he burn himself as some splashes over his hands. He desperately wishes Cas were here right now, with healing hands and the promise that Dean would be fine. Hell, even Cas without his powers would be a welcome sight. It’s been a long time since Sam has had to deal with Dean on death’s door all by himself. Metatron, the Mark, the soul bomb, Michael; each of those terrifying ordeals had been faced with Cas at his side. It was how they originally became good friends, their joint determination to save Dean from the Mark shaping a solid friendship in its wake. If Cas was here now, Sam would have someone to talk to about the gaping fear in his chest, the all consuming thoughts that this was somehow his fault. In turn, Sam would do the same for Cas, giving him something to keep his mind off Dean in surgery, someone else who needed him who he could help.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Cas isn’t here. Sam is alone. Like he was alone when he looked down at his brother’s mauled body, torn to shreds by hellhounds, and there was a full ten minutes before Bobby walked in to find him screaming. In this waiting room, it’s just Sam, a few other miserable souls, and the endless ticking of the analogue clock. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam chugs his coffee and places the empty cup by his feet. Uncaring of who is watching, he curls over his hands, head bowed. Since he learned about Chuck, he hasn’t prayed much. But Chuck isn’t in charge anymore. It can’t hurt to try.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Jack,” Sam whispers, his long hair covering his face from view. “Look, I know you’re trying not to interfere down here, I really do, but Dean is hurt. He’s hurt really bad. I’m not asking for a miracle cure, I know that kinda goes against your new policy-” Sam squeezes his hands together so hard that his knuckles turn white. “But if he’s really on the fence, could you please push him to our side of it? If he’s cool with it, just a nudge in our favor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam’s hands are shaking, no, not just his hands, everything. He refuses to fall to pieces here, not until he knows all is lost, but the stress of keeping himself together is causing almost physical strain. He is so close to fracturing apart. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please, Jack,” Sam says, his voice unsteady, just as wracked with tremors as his body. “We only just got free of Chuck’s endings. Don’t make us live one. Not again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean was right back at the barn, back when he was giving a goodbye speech in case Sam’s salve didn’t do the trick after pulling him off the rebar. Sam could do this without him. He has before, multiple times. He will be okay if Dean goes, he’ll find a life and happiness once the edge of grief wears down, becomes less sharp. But that’s not the point. Dean’s life shouldn’t be about Sam. It should be about Dean. It should be about what Dean wants, about Dean being happy, about Dean getting to do whatever he wants with his newfound freedom. Sam can be a factor in that, but he shouldn’t be the lynchpin on which Dean’s life teeters. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Two hours past until the doctors emerge. Sam stands up to meet them. When they say Dean is “not out of the woods, but stable” Sam barely makes it back into the chair when his knees give out from under him. They give him a progress report and there’s a lot of bad there: permanent damage and possible chronic pain. But it’s nothing compared to the thought of organizing a funeral. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks kid,” Sam says, closing his eyes and tilting his head upwards. “If you ever decide to drop by, I’ll buy you a nougat candy bar.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A young woman a few chairs down from him gets up and moves further away. Sam finds he doesn’t care.</span>
</p>
<hr/>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Dean is going to make it. They got him stabilized but it was bad. Saying goodbyes bad. He gave me this entire speech and-nevermind. He’s alive, that’s what matters.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>He’s not awake yet. They have him heavily sedated and they’re worried about nerve damage. I know that might freak him out, but I’m just glad he’s alive to freak out, you know? If we have to retire, so be it. I have a few ideas if that’s the case.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>I really wish you were here right now, not just for the healing (though that would be amazing). This whole hospital nonsense is the worst to do alone. I’m practically camped out on this stupid plastic chair and my back is killing me. Jody is coming up to do shifts so I can get some rest and I’m considering buying her a fruit basket. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>I don’t even know if she likes fruit baskets. Why is that even a saying? </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>I’m tired. I haven’t slept much since everything happened. I probably sound nuts. Maybe I am nuts. Wouldn’t be the first time.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>I’ve forgiven you for that, by the way. Don’t know if I ever told you that. But I do. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>We are more than our mistakes, Cas. That applies to both of us. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><hr/>
<p>
  <span>Jody takes one look at him and orders him to go to a motel or she will “drag you there myself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam doesn’t doubt that she could, so he goes. The motel is nicer than usual, Jody insisted, and Sam spends the first hour away from the hospital texting everyone updates on Dean’s condition. It’s so different from the other times this has happened, when the only people who had to be informed were Sam and one or two others at most. Now he has an entire group thread with over a dozen people asking how Dean is doing and how they could help. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s nice to know he is not the only person in the world who cares if Dean Winchester lives or dies. Dean should know it too, so he absolutely gives them the hospital room address so they can send him get-well presents that Dean will surely both hate and demand to keep. Eileen calls him thirty minutes after the update and Sam starts crying as soon as he sees her face on his phone screen. She’s covered in dirt, a smear of blood (not her own) on her shirt, and he has never been happier to see her. He fills her in once he recovers himself enough to sign properly, and she promises to be there in two days. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After talking to Eileen,  he checks his email for the first time since everything happened and finds one from Rowena of all people. She uses a hotmail account (Hell’s preferred choice of email) and has a list of ingredients for some more potions and salves he’s been working on. She even offers to provide a few herself, no strings attached, which Sam would be doubtful of if it wasn’t for the final paragraph.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“When you get feathers back, please tell the darling I say hello and that I hope everything works out for him. Someone should have a happy ending, hm?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rowena has always had a weakness for romance. He thanks her for her help and also lets her know that Dean is in the hospital in case she wants to send him something (though he tells her to send it to the Bunker so Sam can first inspect it for anything nasty). As an added bribe, he promises to take a picture of Dean with whatever she sends. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She ends up sending a machete with a card that says “getting clumsy, Winchester?” along with a diagram on “how to decapitate correctly.” It arrives the day after Dean wakes up and Sam laughs until he cries. </span>
</p>
<hr/>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Castiel, this is Jody.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Sam muttered something about keeping you updated. He’s asleep now. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>I understand where he’s coming from. They do this in grief counseling sometimes, though it’s usually with a journal. I had to do it after my son, and then again after my husband. It helped a little.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Claire is furious with you for dying on her. I know you two have a difficult relationship, but she cares about you. She’s the one who asked me not to lay into you because of what you did to her Dad. And trust me, I had a speech that was as good as any angelic smiting. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>We’re keeping an eye on her. Kaia is hunting with her now. They’re a good pair. They recently ran into another hunting family a bit like ours in Montana. A single dad and three teenage daughters. They go to school and everything, and he only lets the eldest go on hunts with him. I’m hoping they might have gotten Claire thinking about what a Hunter’s lifestyle is. I know she wants this life, and I’ve stopped trying to change her mind. But I hope she sees that she doesn’t have to pick just hunting. That she can have that and some normalcy. Well, as normal as we get. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Donna is doing well; she quit the force and is working as a park ranger. It suits her. Alex is still a nurse and she’s started up a private emergency medical practice for Hunters off the grid. Patience is still getting used to her powers, but she grows more confident by the day. She’s started to be able to contact the dead, which scared her at first, but since she’s managed to talk to her Grandmother with it, she’s come around. We got her a cupcake to congratulate her. I don’t know if that was appropriate, but there isn’t exactly a guide for these things. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Normally I wouldn’t place my bets on the dead coming back but if anyone can do it, it’s these boys.  Hopefully they manage it again. When they do, come over for dinner sometime. We’d love to have you, even if you don’t eat. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><hr/>
<p>
  <span>The first thing Dean says when he wakes up and takes in Sam sitting next to him is  “wow you’re tall” before passing back out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They have him on some heavy pain killers, so the first day or two Dean is as high as a  kite when he talks. He’s absolutely thrilled to see Jody and she spends a lot of time regaling him with stories to distract from the pain. Doctors are in and out, news rapidly shifting in tone with each test they do. Sam is increasingly thankful for Charlie updating their fake paperwork, as even the most promising of reports concludes Dean needs at least a week's stay before Sam can even consider checking him out AMA. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once they taper off the meds, Dean becomes a more active participant in conversations. As soon as  he’s awake and conscious enough for it,  Sam berates him about his goodbye speech. The lecture ends in tears because Sam’s anger crumples in upon itself when he recalls the fear that this was it, and he goes through half a box of tissues sobbing. He blames it on being tired. Dean talks through it, not even teasing him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine, Sammy. I’m sorry for scaring you,” Dean says, propped up in his hospital bed. It’s a tiny room, with light yellow walls and a large window to the right. Sam and Jody have placed the cards and flowers Dean got there, while an obnoxious large teddy bear from Garth rests in one of the guest chairs. They managed to hide protective sigils and runes by placing them under the hospital cot and under some cabinets that thankfully don’t have wheels on the bottom. Hospitals are always a pain to ward for that reason; it’s so easy to move things around to find things best left hidden.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no, I didn’t mean to-” Sam waves his hand in the air, hoping it conveys “flipping out” to his brother. He’s seated one of the guest chairs that is far too small for him. Right next to him is a table with wheels that they put Dean’s meals on. Sam notices the pad of paper on Dean’s bedside table. A pen rests nearby. Along with a book Sam never expected to see at Dean’s bedside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that the bible?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean looks over at the gently used paperback bible. The cover is slate gray, with just the word “Bible” on the front. It’s as basic as it gets. “Yeah. Found it on the bedside table thingy a day ago. Think the nurse heard me muttering about angels and thought I wanted it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam frowns. The only times he’s seen Dean read the Bible is when it involves a case. Sam is the one who used to read the text for its intended purpose. In fact, Sam can specifically remember Dean reading Revelations as a child when their Dad asked them to look for demonic lore because it “had all the wild bits.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean if you were that bored, I could have gotten you something-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean cuts him off. “Oh, nah, this wasn’t for entertainment. I got the TV for that.” He gestured to the television, an older model with an actual DVD player. “This is research. Figured since I was bed bound, I could get some work done.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Work?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Last time Sam checked, their only matters of business were getting Dean better and looking into saving Cas. How the Bible could apply to either is lost on him. He leans forward and picks up the bible, scowling. “You’re supposed to be resting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I am. This isn’t hard labor, I swear. I’m just thinking, that’s all. Nothing against doctor’s orders.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam opens the Bible and looks inside. To his surprise, he finds Dean’s handwriting all over the book of Genesis. His notes are twice as large as the font size, and in blue pen. Sam turns the text to read one of his notes. Dean has circled the line about Lucifer in the garden twice and drawn a line out into the margins.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Wow, not even a name drop, just the serpent. Talk about a lousy intro.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why have you been writing in the bible?” Sam asks, looking up. Dean shrugs, then winces. The pain from his wound has been a problem, as suspected. Only time will tell if it becomes chronic. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve been thinking out loud, that’s all. Or I guess in pen,” Dean chuckles. “Back when I was more drugged to the gills I found it and I was going to rip it to shreds until I kinda got an idea. It’s kinda half-baked, but I might be onto something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll explain later. It’s about Cas: I’m still working out if I’m onto something,” Dean says. He takes the bible back from Sam, movements slow as to not irritate his recovering wounds. “Anyway, since I’m going to be stuck here for at least another week, can you do me a favor?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anything,” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you grab me a copy of Paradise Lost?  I know I can just pull it up on my phone, but a book version is easier to leaf through like this,” Dean gestures to his IV and various wires. “And I know Cas has a copy. He was complaining about some of the particulars back when he first read it. Should be in his room.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam tries to hide his surprise. “You want me to get you Satan’s sob story?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean nods. “I promise, I won’t shed a tear over his daddy issues. But yeah, I’d appreciate it. Unless you don’t want to cus the whole thing-” Dean’s brown furrows and Sam can tell he’s still a bit high on the drugs because he can almost watch Dean’s thoughts bounce from one idea to another on his face. His brother’s thought process has always been different from Sam’s own. While Sam thinks in straight lines and organized charts, Dean thinks in tangents and branched off roots of complex ideas. It’s what makes them a good team. “I mean, I know you still have nightmares about him, and shit, this was probably insensitive, I should have-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean, it’s fine,” Sam says, because it is (Lucifer hated Paradise Lost actually, he said as much to Sam in the cage. Something about it being inaccurate, implying he needed help fighting Michael, and quite a bit about the idea that he could fit his essence in the body of a snake. The only thing the devil appreciated about the text was that it made him “almost as hot as real life”). “I was going to stop by the Bunker anyway, I can grab it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam does find the copy in Cas’ room, near the bottom of his “already read” stack. He brings it back to Dean and two days later, he visits to find Dean sticking post-it notes in the text. It takes Sam a moment to realize why he’s not writing in the margins like he did for the bible and he feels rather dense when it occurs to him a few minutes later.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This copy of Paradise Lost is Cas. Dean is trying to keep from ruining his copy. </span>
</p>
<hr/>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Dean is getting released today. He might have a limp from here on out, but he’s alive and that’s what matters. I might have to convince him to start using a cane, but I think I have the perfect sell. You think there’s a cane sword in the Bunker somewhere? It seems like something the Men of Letters would keep around. I’ll just have to find one that I’m sure isn’t cursed. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Dean is handling it better than expected. Sure, he’s bitching about the possibility of a cane, but he bitches about anything that’s new. I was worried he’d be depressed, but he’s actually in a solid mood. It has to do with you.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>He’s got an idea on how to get you out of the Empty. He’s given me the basics and it could work. Here’s hoping. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Anyway, here’s a picture of him on his first day home. I never sent this to you. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>[Attached is a picture of Dean passed out on the couch, a blanket covering most of his body and pillows propping him up. The television appears to be on, given the glow illuminating Dean. Miracle rests on the floor, and Dean’s right hand flops down to rest on her head. He’s fast asleep and on top of his head is a precariously perched cowboy hat. Behind him stands Eileen, who waves a mischievous smile on her face. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><hr/>
<p>
  <span>Dean tells Sam the general idea of his plan a week after he returns home from the hospital. They’re watching a movie at the time, a romance that was on cable that Sam walked in on Dean watching with interest. To Sam’s surprise, Dean didn’t pretend he wasn’t watching the film, or even try to change the channel. Maybe after forty years of living, he’s decided to drop his guise of hating “chick flicks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His cane is leaning on the couch right next to him, a sleek oak one with a metal handle, various wards engraved into the surface. It isn’t a sword, but the runes are tough enough that they’ll do far more damage to most monsters than just an ordinary concealed blade. Dean likes it, and Sam has caught him twirling it around on the couch like Cas does with his angel blade. Except unlike Cas, Dean doesn’t have thousands of years of experience. Which means he has hit himself exactly twice, once hard enough to give him a bloody nose. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, I have this idea,” Dean says from his spot on the couch, the television volume turned low. “Our problem with Cas is that the Empty has already heard his story, right?” Sam nods. “Well, the Bible got me thinking; what if the Empty hasn’t heard his story?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Sam is sitting in one of the lounge chairs next to the couch. Dean needs the entirety of the surface to spread out like the doctor ordered. He’s forbidden from spending too much time sitting upright. Dean is staring at the ceiling as he speaks, gesticulating with his hands as he speaks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, so like the Bible,” Dean says holding up his pointer finger. “It has the whole Lucifer snake con man thing going on.  Him talking to Eve and all of that. The events are simple: Satan tells Eve she should have a snack, Adam and Eve chow down, and both of them realize nudity exists and go cover themselves like they’re in a bad porno”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam isn’t quite sure if he agrees with Dean’s phrasing, but he nods. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So in Paradise Lost, we got that same series of events, right? Snake, apple, bad porno. But the story, it’s different, isn’t it? Cus we get all the stuff about Lucifer falling and the war, and sneaking into the garden and stuff.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam isn’t sure if it’s a good time to tell Dean that he never actually read Paradise Lost in college and instead just googled a summary. In fact, all of Sam’s knowledge comes from the Devil himself. Lucifer loved nothing more than talking about himself in the cage. And outside it.  “None of that actually happened-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t care about the book's accuracy, that’s not the point. I’m just saying, both of them have the same stuff going on, but they’re different stories. You can’t just read one and know the whole score. The focus is entirely different.” Dean looks to Sam, eyes alight with excitement Sam usually sees reserved for fresh pie. “You understand?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam does not understand. “Alright.” On the couch, Dean looks like he’s using every force of willpower he has to lie still. He’s never done will without motion, especially when he’s thinking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So why can’t we do that? Chuck wrote our story, yeah sure, but he wrote his version of it,” Dean says. “The version with all the focus on the tragedy, and the dying and the shitty motels. And all that shit happened but the focus is on our dumb asses getting fucked everytime we try to catch a breather.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Sam says. He’s starting to follow what Dean’s getting at. Maybe. Hopefully. “But we tried telling stuff that Chuck left out and that didn’t work either.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because we tried attaching it to the story Chuck wrote!” Dean surges to sit up, then groans, falling back. He waves Sam off when he gets up to help. After taking a breath, he speaks again. “That’s the problem, Sam.  I keep trying to tell the Empty the story how Chuck would tell it. Cus that’s what worked before. And maybe that’s the problem. The Empty knows that story. But it doesn’t know mine, not how I would tell it. And trust me, if I was writing down this shitshow, I would not spend nearly as much time as Chuck does on some random cases.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam thinks back to the endings he’s read, the versions of their lives Chuck scripted out for them to enact. Dean has a point; Chuck’s writing does lean towards the dire. Which Sam supposes makes sense; Supernatural is filed under “drama” on the publishers’ site. Narrative tension isn’t made of bickering about vacation spots and spending weekends in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What would you focus on?” Sam asks, curious. Dean keeps his gaze on the ceiling, brow furrowed, mouth turned down. When he begins speaking again, it’s halted, each word chosen with care.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“On what matters. I mean the job matters, yeah, but not as much as the shit between the jobs. I’d include Bobby forcing us to help clean his kitchen after you tried to make soup or the time we hit up a casino after you got your visions to try to score an extra buck.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam remembers both moments with immense clarity. He can still feel the congealed soup under his fingers as he scrubbed at Bobby’s old pot as Bobby told them a story of one of his earliest hunts with Rufus. He can still hear the peel of Dean’s laughter when Sam, minutes from walking up to a Blackjack table, asked Dean to remind him of the rules. They’re fond memories, the ones he doesn’t think about enough. It never occurred to Sam they wouldn’t be in Chuck’s writing, but now that he thinks about it, that makes sense. Bobby’s story about a haunted fern and Dean winning back the money Sam lost have nothing to do with their jobs, with angels, and demons. They are just moments of life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean is still talking. “I’d talk about how Charlie sent us video games in the mail after she beat them, or how Kevin left passive aggressive post-its around when he didn’t want to talk to us. I’d spend more time on Jack and on Mom, and-”  Dean stops, swallows, then speaks again.  “And on Cas. I’d spend a lot more time on Cas. Not the version in those books, the dude who only comes up when our asses are in the fire. The one who’s family. The one who I’d bother telling someone any of this shit for.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam watches Dean for a moment. He hates to dampen his brother’s genuine emotional moment, but he feels it has to be said. “But what’s the plot then? I get what you’re saying, and I agree, that shit is important, but don’t we need a story? I don’t know if the Empty will go for just short moments.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think so either,” Dean says. He sounds sure, like he hasn’t been since everything happened. “Which is why I’m going to tell a story where those moments are important to the plot. Where they all lead to the point.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And that is?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean is quiet, now purposely not meeting Sam’s gaze.  “Wait until I’m done working on it. Until then, I need your help.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, what do you need?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean turns his head to look at him, grabbing his phone. Sam watches as he pulls up the voice memo app, and turns the recorder on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me a story about Cas.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Dean asked me to share some stories about you last night.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>I told him some of the greats. Small stuff at first. About you constantly bringing me cups of coffee after my second demon blood detox because I kept complaining about having a dry mouth. And the Lord of the Rings marathon we had after Metatron made you genre savvy. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>I went into some heavier stuff too. Nothing I think you’d mine me sharing. Like what we did when Dean was a demon and we had no idea what happened. What you said to me after we tried the grace extraction thing with Gadreel. How we kept each other sane when Michael came by.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>You’re a good friend, Cas. In case you didn’t know.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Anyway, Dean is  asking everyone for stories about you. And I mean, everyone. We even went to Patience so we could ask Bobby, Kevin and Mom for some. Rowena managed to find some journals Crowley kept that have records of when you two were hunting Lucifer. </span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>He only refers to me as Moose in those. Because of course he did. I don’t know what I expected.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><hr/>
<p>
  <span>Dean collects stories about Cas from everyone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He heads to Jody’s to get stories from them, tales of Cas’ visits to see Claire. Claire texts them both about Castiel at random hours with no warning, her stories coming sporadic at odd hours of the night. He visits the other Bobby and Charlie for tales of Castiel in the other universe and how he differed so much from their own. He reads Jack’s journals, asks Donatello for his notes, requests Rowena send up anything Crowley wrote down about the angel while they worked together. With Patience’s help, they ask folks in Heaven about their time with the angel. Bobby, Mary, Charlie, Kevin: anyone who will pick up the heavenly phone. They make sure to pay her twice the rate they insist she charge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean transcribes them all down. When he’s not taking stories, he’s writing his own. Sam finds him writing everywhere: in his bed, on the couch, speaking into his phone as he makes dinner seated. He can walk better now and the cane is mostly to help with pain from standing up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A month passes like this. While Dean works on his project, Sam and Eileen work on their own: a Hunter’s network like the one Bobby used to run. They set up a phone line to text for advice, and phones labeled with every agency they can think of. Eileen even works with Charlie on a video chat system that puts up a fake federal background so she can take calls as well. They have yet to spread the word, but they have close friends test the system in the interim. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s frightening to try something that ended so bad before but Sam sticks to it. Their lives are their own now. He needs to stop living like he’s waiting for the next plot twist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before  they try their next attempt at the ritual, Dean stops Sam in the library where he’s collecting ingredients. His cane taps against the floor as he walks, echoing throughout the space. Sam can tell from the noise when Dean is right behind him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you have to be in the room when I do this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam looks over his shoulder. Dean is dressed in his usual attire, but to Sam’s surprise, he’s wearing the same jacket he wore when he last saw Cas. The bloody handprint isn’t as noticeable now after a wash, but it has stained the fabric permanently. Sam can still make out each finger gripping Dean’s shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Someone has to maintain the spellwork. And you’re gonna be busy with the whole reading thing-” He pointed to a stack of papers under Dean’s arm, bound together with wire loops and a plastic cover. Sam wonders what the local printer thought of the document when they sent it in to be organized, assuming they read some of the pages. Maybe they thought Dean was an aspiring fiction writer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean doesn’t look thrilled by Sam’s news. In fact, he looks like Sam told him demons were outside the Bunker and demanding an audience. “Fine, fine. Could you, I don’t know, wear noise canceling headphones or something?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, I kinda need to hear myself talk, so no.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You sure?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam sighs. He knows this version of the story is more personal, but this is ridiculous. Dean wouldn’t even let him look any of the pages over to add in anything he missed. “Yeah, I’m sure. Look, if you want I wear headphones and pretend I can’t hear you if it makes you feel better-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean slams his cane against the floor, scowling. He grits his teeth and Sam ideally wonders if Garth is going to lecture Dean about wearing down his enamel on their next visit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ugh, fine! No headphones. But everything I say in there doesn’t fucking leave that room, you got it Sam?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who would I even tell?” Sam, despite Dean’s clear nightmares, is not a gossip on things that matter. Eileen would never want to know unless it involved logistics on getting Cas back. Jody is a steel trap of secrets and would cut Sam off about “minding his own business”before he even started. And Garth, well, Sam is smart enough to know that telling Garth a secret is a way to ensure the secret is public hunter news in less than 48 hours. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know! Not the point,” Dean grinds his right foot into the floor. He’s not meeting Sam’s gaze. “Shit is personal, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s something about Dean’s tone that reminds Sam of over fifteen years ago. Back when they were chasing a haunted truck of all things, and seeing a beautiful, intelligent, girl scared Dean more than any ghost.  “...How personal?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sam, I swear I am going to deck you-” He won’t, Dean can’t manage that now. Regardless, Sam knows he means the sentiment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, okay, I swear to keep your speech to myself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam could leave it there, with a promise to let things lie. He doesn’t though. He remembers Cassie, and how terrified Dean was to tell Sam anything about her. Like Sam would laugh at him for being capable of loving someone. It’s a pattern with Dean, a deep undercurrent of fear whenever it comes to matters of the heart. Dean has probably cursed more in his life more than he’s ever said “I love you” platonically and romantically combined.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And Dean,” Sam says, picking each word carefully. “You don’t have to worry about me judging you for being honest. Not about this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He won’t. Despite his occasional teasing, Sam has never wanted to uphold the macho code of suffering silence their Dad forced on them through example. He knows he echoes his father in many ways, in his temper and his compulsion to keep even the most stupid secrets. It took him years to see that, painful ones. He is still haunted by dreams when he looks into the mirror and sees John staring back at him. To see a man made of stalwart stone, whose softer emotions were buried under layers of anger, bitterness and paranoia. A memory Sam associates with love and hate that he will never fully untangle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is that memory that makes Sam try to be open, to be vulnerable. It’s a different version of that memory that compels Dean to shut everything away where no one can see. It’s protective, Sam gets that. An echo of John’s teachings to keep him safe. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chuck’s story is over. Perhaps it’s time they gave up the patterns that allowed them to survive in his world. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It says something that Dean doesn’t brush off Sam’s reassurance with a crack about chick flicks. Instead, he smiles, gaze away from Sam. It’s an expression Sam recognizes from their mother, one Sam only was able to place when she came back to them. There are a lot of parts of Dean that Sam now knows came from Mary. Despite how it all ended, he’s happy he got to see them himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean says. With that, they both step down the stairs to start setting up the ritual. </span>
</p>
<hr/>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>We’re going to try again. Here goes nothing.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Hope to see you on the other side.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><hr/>
<p>
  <span>They don’t talk as Sam paints out the lines for the ritual. Tension is thick in the small space, and Sam feels on edge. When they begin the spell, Dean takes a seat facing the wall in a chair they dragged down. His manuscript is in his lap. His cane leans against the chair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright you jackass, I know you’re tired of me shouting at you, but you’re gonna wanna wake up from your fucking snooze of the century cus I got a good one for you this time,” Dean says. He hasn’t even opened the first page yet. Sam wonders if he’s ad-libbing or if he’s memorized it. “Not a redux of some of Chuck’s angsty shit. Nah, this is something he could never write. At least not on purpose.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean breathes in deep through his nose. Sam watches a smile, one he so rarely sees, the one that’s open, and honest, and thrilled, spread across his face. It’s a smile he has only captured in a handful of photos, the most recent being one of him and Cas next to a sign that said “Angels are real! Repent now!” In the photo, Dean is grinning like he’s won the lottery. Probably because Cas was standing over the sign, looking pensive, hand on his chin. The angel’s sense of humor had improved since his first days on Earth; he didn’t even question Dean on why he wanted to take the photo. Sam knows for a fact Dean printed it out to put in his room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The smile doesn’t falter as Dean speaks, finally opening the cover of his manuscript.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> “I’m gonna tell you a love story.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam almost misses the next word in his whispered incantation. He knew Dean said this was personal but, this was-well Sam understands now why Dean wanted him to wear headphones. He feels like he’s intruding.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See, this all begins way before humanity was even a concept on Chuck’s dream board,” Dean continues. He’s not reading directly off the page and Sam is sure he’s memorized this section. “You see, he started with making angels cus he was so fucking lonely all the time. After pissing off his sister, he had to make himself new friends. Which like, man, what a loser, but that’s not the point. First he started with the archangels who were a great big bag of dicks like their Dad, except for Gabriel once he pulled his horn out of his ass.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean chuckles to himself, fond, before continuing. “And then he made a bunch of other angels, soldiers meant for a variety of jobs that you probably don’t care about. So we can skip that stuff. What is important about Chuck’s little creation spree, is in this batch of hundreds of angels he made one in particular. He made Castiel.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam starts as the fire crackles below his hands in the bowl. Despite knowing this story, he found himself pulled in regardless. He tends to the fire as Dean continues.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know a lot about Cas before we met,” Dean says. “There aren’t a lot of people to interview on the topic, so I’m just going to give you what I do know. He was a soldier and a good one. A right feathery badass. They had him doing tactics and stuff, and that got him some street cred among his siblings. But despite that, he had problems with his siblings too. He sometimes had doubts about the world he’d been created into, and when his family learned about that, it got him in trouble. They thought he asked too many questions, that he was too curious. He got lectured for watching humanity in his free time. Once he spent hours watching folks in China  perfect the first fireworks because it reminded him of the angels making the stars.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam doesn’t know this story. He wonders when Cas told Dean it, what other stories from his eras on Earth he’s mentioned that Sam doesn’t know. He can’t help but think Cas might have told this story in particular due to Dean’s own fascination with fireworks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One day he was sent to rescue a punk from Hell who’d gotten himself there saving his kid brother from a death he didn’t deserve,” Dean says, voice wobbling. It’s almost imperceptible but Sam can hear it as clear as a bell. “They called him the righteous man, and while personally I think that’s a bit much, it was the official title. As you can guess, that poor son of a bitch was me, the asshole who’s been yelling at you for the last month. Because even after all that Hell, I refuse to give up on-” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He falters, glances at Sam, then looks back to the wall. “On those I love.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam’s mind briefly flashes back to a barn, where Sam hoped desperately his salve would start working. The memory sends a chill through his body, at how Dean spoke to him then, convinced it was the end. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyway, I stabbed him. Right in his chest,” Dean continues, snapping Sam out of the recollection. Sam remembers hearing Bobby tell him this after they got back from the barn. At the time, he was sure they were all about to be smited for stabbing an angel of the lord. Being religious back then proved to be a source of constant anxiety for Sam. “And that was the meeting that one day, along with my brother, and my friends, would one day help save the world several times over. Because that meeting in a run down barn that smelled like spray paint, would be the start of an Angel of the Lord picking humanity over everything else he ever believed in. And it would be the start of a cynical bastard like me, finding some faith that maybe good things do happen after forty years of experiencing the exact opposite.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean looks down at his paper, then back up at the wall. He holds out both his hands, a beckoning gesture. He speaks in the tone he uses when he’s trying to provoke monsters. “I’ll tell you the rest if you want. But you gotta give me a sign first that you’re listening in cus I’m not pouring my heart out to a concrete wall while my brother pretends not to hear a word for over an hour.” Dean gets up using his cane for balance, tucking the manuscript under his arm.  “So? What do you say? You wanna hear this shit or not?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is a minute where nothing happens. Sam’s watches as Dean clenches his teeth and shuts his eyes tight, grief beginning to creep across his features. A sense of dread, thick like impenetrable fog, seems to consume the room. Sam takes a step forward, ready to say something.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then, a soft sound like the opening of a rusty door. With it, a crack appears in the wall, bleeding black goo onto the floor below. It forms a pool there and from it rises a silhouette without a face, a shadow made corporeal. When it speaks, it has no mouth. Sam has seen a lot of monsters in his time, but something about this one is different. Instead of taking up space in the room, it almost subtracts from it, like it is consuming what is into Empty space. Perhaps that is why people call it the Shadow; it’s presence is an echo of existence, not existence itself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It has been a long time since someone dared to tell me a love story,” the Shadow says. Each word echoes in the room like multiple people are speaking at once in unison. Sam recognizes a few of them:  Meg, Gabriel, Balthazar, Ruby. Angels and demons both lost in the Shadow’s endless abyss. “And I’m sure you know how that story ended. I hear it’s rather popular. Why should you seek to repeat the mistakes of Orpheus, mortal?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean takes a step towards the Shadow. He has a limp, but the cane keeps him steady. Sam is thankful it is carved with so many runes: if the Shadow tries anything, maybe one of them might help. “I thought you were listening to the story. I refuse to give up, remember? Or have you forgotten that part? Because, I got to say, pretty bad reading comprehension there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The shadow tilts their head. Sam recognizes the gesture despite the creature’s lack of face. It is a mockery of Cas’ head tilt, the one he makes when curious. The Shadow’s version is more exaggerated, the head dipped lower than Cas does it, but it’s close enough to the original to notice the similarities.  Dean appears to notice it too in how he stiffens. “I won’t let you attempt to retrieve him without a deal.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam freezes. A deal? Dean, on the other hand, doesn’t seem phased at all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good, cus I got one for you at the ready,” Dean says, holding up his manuscript. “You let me in to take back Cas, and I keep telling you this excellent story I got here. If I keep you engaged the entire time I’m dragging his feathered ass back to the land of the living, you let us both go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Shadow stands there, still. Sam notices their silhouette in the silence. It is constantly shifting, projecting different shadows onto the floor below. Sam makes out the form of Lucifer, and feels his throat tighten.“And if you bore me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then you get to keep us both and I stop annoying you with my slam poetry attempts.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was not a part of the plan. Sam steps forward, reaching for his brother. He thinks of that haunted house back when Cas died, of the desperate moves Dean made with no care from himself. He can’t let that happen again. “Dean-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean looks over his shoulder back at him. His expression stops Dean in his tracks. It’s not the frustrated resignation Sam saw back in that house. No, this is different. This is the look Dean had when telling Zachariah that he would ask Michael for his head on a platter. It is single-minded, assured determination. Dean thinks he can do this. “Sammy, please. Trust me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam almost says no. He almost places himself between his brother and the Shadow. He almost protests. But he remembers over a decade ago asking Dean to let him throw Lucifer in the cage with himself as the holding cell. Shouldn’t Dean deserve the same.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Sam says. He steps back to the spell bowl.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm,” the Shadow says. “I am intrigued. If the angel chooses to leave with you, I will require him to leave his grace behind and become mortal. Too many problems if he comes back again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And if he doesn’t want to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Shadow shrugs and that movement too is an echo of Cas’ shrug. “He’ll be forced to stay. I’ll let you go though, I suppose. No point in keeping the pair of you if it’s going to be that awkward.” The Shadow holds out their hand, and gestures to the rift behind them. “Do we have a deal?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean looks down at the hand. He looks at Sam and gives him a small wave. One that says “see you later, kid.” Then, after placing the manuscript under his arm with the cane, he shakes the Shadow’s hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Deal.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With that, they both walk into the rift. Sam watches as it remains open behind them, the spell bowl burning out. It’s all up to Dean now. He moves away from the bowl and sits down in the chair Dean was previously occupying. He somehow knows the rift in front of him will not allow him entry if he decides to chase after Dean. In the silence of the room, he too begins to speak. It probably won’t do anything, but he needs something to fill the time. This seems as good as any.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It all started again when my brother broke into my apartment at Stanford.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>Please, come back. Both of you. Please.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p>
    <em>
      <span>I can do this alone, but I don’t want to.</span>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><hr/>
<p>
  <span>Five hours later, after Sam’s voice has gone hoarse from talking, it happens. There is a buzzing from the rift, a hum that seems a mix of a hundred voices whispering at once Then, from the darkness, comes a voice, soft at first then growing in volume. Dean.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And here’s what that angel didn’t know, the reason the mortal he gave his life for refused to let him reside in the world’s shittest supernatural getaway for all eternity. Because what that angel wanted? It was something he could have.” Sam can hear Dean’s cane now, tapping against a surface that echoes like wood, stone, plaster, and concrete all at once. “ It was something he could have for as long as he still wanted it. Because that mortal was changed too, having known him, he was different too. That angel had given him courage to defy his own fate, he’d pushed him to keep going when he wanted to believe the worst about himself, he reminded him that he was worth fighting for, even on his worst days.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The rift crackles around the edges. Out of it steps Dean, still talking. Over his shoulder is a figure with a mop of black hair, talking shuddering steps. Sam realizes with a start that Dean has likely been telling the story from memory with both of his hands occupied. The pair stumble out as Dean speaks with increasing volume. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The righteous man loved him back. And he wouldn’t rest until he got to tell it to his face.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With that Dean’s knees buckle and Sam gets up, rushing to meet them. Taking care, he helps both men to the ground. Dean resists his efforts, clinging to Sam’s arm for support as he turns to face the rift. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And that’s the story. You got it all. A deal is a deal; you entertained?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The room is silent except for their breathing. Then, with a crackling noise of tin foil, lightning and crumpled paper, the rift closed. Dean let Sam help him to the ground as soon as it was gone, breathing deep and heavy. Sam took in sight before him, breathless himself, like he was the one who’d carried a former angel from the end of all things with a limp.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On the floor of the room were two figures. One was Dean, his hair an absolute mess on top of his head. In his arms, was a man in a tan trench coat that Sam would have recognized anywhere. A man who’d defied Heaven's orders, lifted them both from Hell, and saved the world at their sides multiple times over. A man who’d given a teenage girl a stuffed animal cat as an apology, who’d bought the son of Lucifer a teddy bear for his birthday, who’d learned how to cook even though he didn’t eat to contribute to a family dinner. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A man who deserves his happy ending. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam watches with bated breath as Cas’ eyes flutter, the confusion of unconsciousness clearing to surprise. He startles, sitting up with Dean’s arms around him in a half embrace. He looks around the room, eyes falling on Sam, then turns to see Dean, eyes growing wide.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dean,” Cas says, looking stunned. “What...but the Empty. I-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean grins. It’s bright and thrilled and Sam takes it as a sign for him to make a swift exit unless he wishes to ruin a moment a decade in the making. He takes careful steps back towards the door. It opens with a soft click and he waves to Cas when he looks at him still bewildered. Sam lifts up his hands to sign and is thankful Cas knows every language on Earth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Missed you. We’ll talk later.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He walks through the door and shuts it behind him, taking care to make as little noise as possible. As he makes a swift retreat away from the pair, he hears the sound of a kiss followed by his brother’s voice, barely perceptible through the thick doors.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You were right, Cas. Good things do happen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>-I’m sure most of you are familiar with Paradise Lost which is referenced, but it is the story of the temptation of Adam and Eve from Satan’s POV. Unlike Sam in this fic, I did actually read it. Milton reminds me a bit of Chuck in the sense he wrote himself into his own story as a prophet. Writers, am I right? </p>
<p>-The stories about Cas I use are a mix of real moments from canon and ideas of my own.</p>
<p>-I’m sure everyone here knows what the title refers to. I thought about it for awhile, but I couldn’t resist. This is a fic about the meta nature of fiction: might as well lean in. </p>
<p>-Cassie, who is mentioned in passing, is from Route 666 which we all know as a very bad episode. However, I do like Cassie, and I’m glad she managed to survive this bullshit show. I like to think she’s a reporter in Kansas City now. If Supernatural ever gets rebooted, I hope they write her into an episode that’s worth her time. </p>
<p>-For those who bet on the smooch this chapter, congrats on winning your betting pool. </p>
<p>-Just the epilogue left! See you all at a werewolf vows renewal next week :)</p>
<p>-After the epilogue, I don’t know what I’ll write next. This was a beast to write, a worthwhile one, but absolutely the most ambitious fan project I’ve taken up in years. I have a canon compliant finale fix it in my drafts, but otherwise, I don’t have anything concrete. </p>
<p>-As always, you can find me on Tumblr at Goodluckdetective.tumblr.com. If you want to follow my Supernatural only side blog, you can go to haveyoucursedornot.tumblr.com. </p>
<p>-And last but not least, a big massive thank you to Spider-Gwen/Aurora who beta’d this chapter. Thank you for looking upon this draft and making it suitable for public consumption. Editors are the real heroes, kids. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>- Another big thank you to the profound bond discord server who dealt with me rambling about this for a week.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Epilgoue: Footloose and Fancy Free</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Garth and Bess get re-hitched, Sam plays secret keeper, and Castiel obtains a story.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Massive thanks to CallenoftheNorth who beta'd this chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span class="u">
      <strong>Six Months Later</strong>
    </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Garth and Bess’ vow renewal ceremony takes place in a forest preserve with a nice clearing of flowers as decoration. It’s a simple affair, the company watches the happy couple the point of the entire thing, and everyone cheers when the pair kiss, even though they use a bit too much tongue to be socially acceptable. The reception for the event is up at a tavern run by one of Bess’ cousins, and when Sam pulls into the parking lot, he has to fight for a space. Eileen and Cas are terrible backseat drivers during the entire ordeal, and Sam is glad Dean isn’t with them to chime in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean isn’t with them because he is off in town, completing the last task of a secret project a few months in the making. Sam and Eileen are  recruited as partners in crime for the task if only by necessity to keep the one person who matters in the dark. The same person who is grumbling in the backseat about some of the parking choices of their fellow guests.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A motorcycle does not need a full parking spot,” Cas says, glaring at a bike placed right in the middle of a spot near the front. If looks could kill, the motorcycle would be a smited blob of metal on the concrete. “Where is Dean going to park if this many spots are taken already?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He can park down the street,” Sam says, turning off the engine to the car they’ve brought. Dean has the Impala, as usual. “Walking is good for him after spending so much time in the car.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean’s recovery from his injury has gone better than expected, but he still has long term pain and a slight limp to keep in mind. Light walking up the block should help get in some movement to help with that. Cas nods, cheering considerably. He’s one of the reasons Dean remembers to do his exercises in the first place. Heaven hath no fury like a former angel’s mother henning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you ready for the party?” Eileen asks. She’s been moving her gaze from the rear view mirror to Sam in order to follow their conversation. Cas unbuckles his seatbelt and looks at the tavern with apprehension. It’s the same expression he has when going into a fight without enough intel. In those circumstances, it puts Sam ill at ease. In this context, he is doing his best to keep from laughing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve been told there is dancing at these events,” Cas says, twiddling his thumbs as Sam unbuckles his own seatbelt and gets out of the car. Eileen is already out herself, shaking out wrinkles in her skirt and Cas follows. He is looking at the tavern with a stern expression. “I’m not sure how to dance. I watched some videos on the internet and they were all puzzling.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t have to dance if you don’t want to,” Sam says, walking over to Eileen to grab her hand. “You can always hang out with me at the two left feet table of shame.” Eileen raises an eyebrow at him and Sam shrugs. “After Eileen takes me out for a spin and decides I should be rightfully banished there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t even hear the music and I’m dancing. You’re just a chicken.” Eileen lets go of Sam’s hand to sign the last word. Sam signs back to her as he speaks in reply. He’s signing is getting better with practice, though he’s still far from where he wants to be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You say that now but wait until I accidentally step on your feet and we’ll talk.” She signs “chicken” at him again and sticks out her tongue. It’s so childish for a woman who has fought ghosts and demons, and Sam loves her so much for it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cas clears his throat and Sam doesn’t feel an ounce of remorse for his flirting tangent. After over a decade of Dean and Cas’ epic staredowns, it’s time Cas got a taste of his own medicine. They head to the tavern, up the cobblestone steps and to the front door. It’s nothing like the bars Sam is used to frequenting, far too fancy, a sort of upscale lodge feeling. The tables are made of polished oak wood, the seats at the bar have no tears in the fabric cushions. There are no weird stains on the floor when they walk in, and the drink menu hung up behind the bar has names he doesn’t recognize. But the place has cheap beer too and friendly faces, so it’s not so upscale that he feels out of place. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam walks past the entrance after giving a friend of Garth’s who is working coat check his jacket.  Eileen is next to him and Cas trails behind. The reception is “Hunter formal” so Sam is wearing a nice button up and jeans without any stains. Eileen is wearing a nice sun dress with leggings and comfortable shoes herself. Cas is the best dressed of the three of them, wearing actual dress pants and a tie. This is his first actual formal event as a human and he insisted on playing the part. Dean teased him for it, but Sam also saw how Dean froze when he saw Cas walk out with the first tie of his shirt unbuttoned, so he thinks his brother doth protest too much.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Garth greets Sam with a hug as soon as they enter and pulls Eileen and Cas into one shortly after. Sam is shocked when Garth begins signing to Eileen but considering the man Garth is, it shouldn’t have been a surprise. The man may have not fully become the new Bobby, but he holds enough hidden talents as his predecessor to be worthy of the name. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam’s been seeing a lot of Garth the last six months. The man might be retired from active hunting, but he still wants to be involved. Garth literally lept at the opportunity to join Sam and Eileen’s budding Hunter network. He’s a co-founder now, his past work and well liked persona  instrumental in getting names and contacts to add. The best asset he’s managed to contribute besides experience has been the monsters. It turns out, quite a few things that go bump in the night live just like Garth and his family: peaceful and as normal as things can be when you have fangs and claws. These same folks tend to be pretty willing to sell out their kin who decide to hurt people. A few are even Hunters themselves. It’s a valuable vein of intel Sam never expected to have access to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How’s it going!” Garth says, signing as he talks. He gets on his tiptoes to peer over Sam. “Where’s Dean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s running an errand,” Sam says. “Bess wanted him to grab some extra drinks.” Garth’s brow crinkles in confusion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Last minute thing,” Eileen chimes in as Garth opens his mouth to likely inform them that Bess asked for no such thing. Sam wishes he thought of a better lie. Garth looks at all three of them, and Sam wishes for a minute that he had telepathy because if Garth ruins Dean’s surprise, the latter will never forgive himself. Thankfully, years of hunting mean Garth picks up on enough to change topics. Sam can almost feel Cas stare at his back and hopes that a millennium of war tactics hasn’t allowed Cas to sense subterfuge on sight. He doesn’t appear to, as he lets it drop as Garth changes the topic to his kids.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a quick montage of baby photos off of Garth’s phone, Cas and Eileen go to find their table. Garth looks at Sam, putting his hands on his hips. Fatherhood has only made him more corney, which is saying something.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So what is this errand actually? Cus Bess didn’t ask Dean to run errands.” Sam checks to make sure Cas is out of earshot before replying.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Surprise for Cas.”</span>
</p>
<p><span>Garth hums, raises a hand to wag his finger. “It better not be a proposal, because that would be rude-”</span><span><br/></span> <span>Sam rushes to cut him off. “No, no, not a proposal.” Garth stops his finger wagging, and raises an eyebrow. “Just a gift. He’s not going to steal your thunder.”</span><span><br/></span> <span>Garth lowers his hand back to his hips and nods, satisfied. “I’m not worried about my thunder: I’m worried about Bess’. She’s no bridezilla but she does have a nasty set of fangs and claws when she’s upset.”</span></p>
<p>
  <span>It takes a moment for Sam to process what he said. “...Was that a werewolf joke or a Dad joke?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Both. Someone has to make them,” Bess says, walking up behind the two of them and wrapping her arms around Garth’s neck. They exchange a kiss that is a little too long to be publicly acceptable before she turns to Sam. “I assume Garth showed you pictures of Sammy?“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> After another round of kid pictures, Sam gets to explore the party properly. Garth and Besa have invited enough people to fill a dance hall. The reception is a mix of chill werewolves, hunters who are cool enough to hang out with chill werewolves and one nervous dentist assistant who joined Garth’s practice after he learned about monsters. Sam recognizes a lot of faces, quite a few of them other Hunters. He spends the first portion of the reception going around and catching up. Jody and Donna hug him tight when they see him, and Claire insists he has grey hair. Alex, Patience and Cas get into a deep conversation about a curse Alex saw a week ago that she called Sam to help solve. Jesse and Cesar came up to attend and they are speaking to Eileen, swapping stories of their personal best hunts. He sees other folks too, some he hasn’t talked to in what feels like a lifetime. Krissy is there with Adian and Josephine and Sam doesn’t recognize her at first with how much she’s grown. Max Barnes has a new boyfriend he brought along. A handful of folks Sam recognizes from Asa’ wake are in attendance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There are also quite a few hunters Sam has never seen before. He’s introduced to the hunter family Claire and Kaia met on the road and there are so many introductions he’s sure his head is spinning by the end of it. He makes sure to hand them all his contact info and hopes they will call as promised. They could always use more contacts. He tells them to talk to Dean too about his plans to open a Hunter bar like the Roadhouse. Sam is sure he’ll want their names to spread the word when he eventually starts the place up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once the party really gets going, Sam learns an unexpected perk of knowing sign language: being able to speak despite loud music. Even if they’re near the steep, him and Eileen can have a full conversation without repeating themselves. Eileen tells him a few stories of other advantages of signing, some hunting related, some not. Most of them are absolutely hysterical regardless of topic. He’s so engaged in their conversation that he barely notices when Dean arrives, just spotting him as he walks to Cas. There is a paper wrapped bundle under his arm, and Sam nudges Eileen to direct her attention to the pair. They both watch as Dean whispers into Cas’ ear and then pulls him away from an animated conversation with Claire and Kaia to go outside. Dean spots Sam as he opens the door, and Sam gives him a thumbs up. The nerves of Dean’s face smooth out a bit as the door shuts behind them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“He shouldn’t be so nervous,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Eileen signs. Sam shakes his head, thinking about how his brother is more scared of being open with  his feelings than any monster they’ve tussled with. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s Dean; emotions make him nervous.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fifteen minutes later, Sam realizes that he’s out of cash to tip the bar staff with and heads out to his car. He takes a different exit than Dean and Cas did, hoping to give them privacy. As he heads back to the tavern with a handful of singles, he accidentally spots them despite his best intentions. They’re off to the side of the tavern, far away from the lights to not be easily spotted, but close enough that they can still be seen. They’re embracing, Cas’s face tucked into Dean’s shoulder and Dean’s hands clenched into Cas’s shirt. In one of Cas’ hands is the remnants of the brown wrapping Sam saw earlier and in the other is a book with a fine leather cover. Fireflies float around them, and in the shadows of the night, a hanging sign in the shape of a bird that says “Fly Ahead for Festive Times”  throws a shadow over the pair. At the angle Sam is standing at, it looks almost like wings are enfolding the pair, tucking them away from the outside world. After a second, Cas pulls away and places his hand on Dean’s cheek leaning in for a kiss.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not wanting to ruin the moment, Sam turns on his heel and goes through another entrance. Eileen is waiting for him at their table, and they watch a miserable attempt at the Electric slide play out on the dance floor. A few songs later, Dean taps on his shoulder. His hair is a mess, and his collar barely hides a hickey. Cas is in no better shape, equally disheveled with his tie undone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mind if I steal your girl for a dance?” Dean says, holding his hand out to Eileen. Eileen snorts at the expression “your girl” but takes his hand. She gives Sam a kiss on the cheek as she goes.  Sam can hear her challenge Dean to keep off her toes” as they enter the throng of dancers. Cas takes his seat at the table and places the book Sam saw earlier on it, arms folded over the cover as if to defend it from an upcoming attack. Sam smiles and gestures to it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I see he gave it to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. Yes, he did.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good. I was worried he was going to chicken out for a second there and I’d have to deal with his indecision for a few months. I assume you like it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do not think like is a strong enough word.” Cas looks overwhelmed, staring at the book with wide eyes. Sam wonders if he’ll have that expression for the rest of the night. He looks pained when he tears his eyes to look back to Sam. Sam doesn’t miss the redness there. “I heard I have you to thank for the title.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I only offered suggestions.” That was true though greatly exaggerated. A week before, Dean had come to Sam with a frantic look in his eye and a list of song lyrics and titles. He refused to tell Sam what they were for, only that he was trying to decide what would be the best title for an entirely </span>
  <em>
    <span>hypothetical </span>
  </em>
  <span>copy of the story he told the Empty to get Cas out if it was to </span>
  <em>
    <span>hypothetically</span>
  </em>
  <span> be bound and printed as a gift. Sam had nixed “Stairway to Heaven” off the bat and after some ferocious debate about cliches, Sam had told him the following. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s your story, Dean. Shouldn’t you use your own words? I thought that was the point.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean appears to have taken his advice. One the leather cover is embossed with block letters a simple title. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’d Rather Have You (Cursed or Not)”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam doesn’t know the context of the quote, but Cas seems to given his fond smile as he brushes his thumb over the letters. Under the title, there is no author, only a drawing of a feather, curled like it just floated to the ground underneath. Dean likely drew it himself for the cover maker to emboss. He has a surprising talent for drawing when Cas is concerned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam hadn’t read it, he never would, as it wasn’t his story to read. Unlike Chuck’s novels, this book was not written to entertain a wide audience with tales of the Winchester’s misery. It was a story Dean made for Cas and Cas alone, a story the Empty only got to hear so Cas could hear it himself. A physical version of the words Dean has trouble saying out loud. Dean has always been better with his actions over his words. This book is the “I love you” that he is always terrified of saying out loud, less the universe hear and rip it away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had said them out loud, this Sam knew. He accidentally overheard Dean whisper it to Cas a few weeks ago, and pretended not to hear to give them some privacy. Sam is a good brother, thank you very much. Even if he still makes fun of Dean for listening to cassette tapes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Regardless of your input, I appreciate the support. I leafed through your sections. They were thoughtful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam thinks back to the stories he told Dean. “Even the one about our riddle competition?” Cas nods at him, sly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thoughtful does not always mean profound.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam laughs. He watches as Cas takes a sip of a drink he got from the bar. He’s taking it slow ever since they went out for beers a week after he got back and ended up so hungover the next morning he claimed to the brothers that he was “dying.” “Adjusting to humanity okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cas sets down his beer and nods. “It’s far easier than the first time. Less to be worried about. Given the state of my grace beforehand, it’s far less jarring.” He folds his hands together and looks at them. Sam wonders if he’s thinking about all the things his hands used to be able to do, how they could heal and hurt in one touch. “I miss being able to heal, but I have found humanity’s methods of aiding the injured to be satisfactory despite the extended timeline,” Cas tilts his head in the direction of Alex, who has dragged Patience in for a very one sided dance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was a surprise upon Cas’ return: his interest in human medicine. With Dean still recovering, Cas had insisted upon learning how to help him out, and from there he’d found he had quite the interest in first aid. He began reading books on survival and first aid shortly after, and as soon as they had fake papers for him, he was attending a first aid class down at city hall. He hasn’t said anything to Sam yet, but Sam has heard him speaking to Charlie over the phone about what records he would need to falsify to attend proper nursing school classes. Alex has even offered to take him on as her assistant for her Hunter’s clinic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean has also enjoyed this new interest of Cas’, given how many “sexy nurse” jokes he’s been making when he thinks Sam can’t hear. Sam complained to Eileen once about it, but she’d only responded that she “hadn’t heard a word.” In retrospect, Sam should have seen that joke coming.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And what of your plan for the network? Eileen has showed me they work you two have so far. It looks promising.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam tries to hide his excitement at the topic. He’s been told by Dean that he gets carried away whenever someone asks him about the Hunter network project. “It’s good. Scary but good. I know Bobby has been gone for awhile but, I don’t know, it seems right that one of us picked up what he started. Make something he'd be proud of.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He would be proud of you regardless.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam tries very hard not to tear up at that thought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They sit in silence for a few minutes. Sam looks to the dance floor where Dean and Eileen are twirling. They’re moving slow, keeping in mind Dean’s movement limitations, but they look to be having a blast. Sam doesn’t think he’s seen Dean this carefree in years. It’s a look he’s missed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did get your texts,” Cas says, grabbing his attention. Sam turns back to him, surprised. He’s forgotten about the texts given all the celebrations when Cas came back, the work on the Network and the restructuring of their lives. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. I wasn’t sure if they’d actually load when you came back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They did. Thank you, for thinking of me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam knows he should take the thanks and leave it, but he doesn’t. He knows Cas has struggled with feeling included in the past, and for that reason he can’t let this slide. Cas might not be his brother in law (at least not yet), but he’s been his brother in arms. He’s one of the people Sam trusts in a pinch no matter what. That counts for something.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t have to thank me. We always think about family, Cas. That’s just rules.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cas looks at him and nods, like Sam is actually setting down rules.  He gets out his phone. “Then thank you for the pictures. I enjoyed them.” He turns the screen to Sam to show him his lockscreen. Sam is delighted to see it is the picture of Dean from their bee-keeper hunt, silly shirt and all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello, handsome,” Sam and Cas both look up from the photo to find Dean standing in front of them, Eileen waiting behind. He has his cane in one hand and his other held out towards Cas. “Can I have this dance?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cas turns the color of a tomato, getting up. One of the interesting developments of him now being human is how much he blushes. He grabs Dean’s hand, gentle. “I don’t-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go. Dance!” Sam pushes Cas forward and gestures at his brother to go drag the former angel off. Cas almost squawks , birdlike, like he does whenever he’s forced into a human situation he has no concept of approaching. He looks back at Sam with terror. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know how to dance!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eileen comes up next to Sam and Sam gets up so she can slide  her arm around his waist. He bends over to kiss her hair and looks back to the pair. “Don’t worry, you’ll figure it out.” Sam turns to Dean, who has entangled his fingers with Cas’. It’s adorable in a “</span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re my older brother so gross but I’m happy for you</span>
  </em>
  <span>” kind of way. Dean begins pulling Cas away towards the dance floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t dip him, Dean, unless you’re sure you won’t drop him!” Sam shouts after them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dean rolls his eyes and briefly pulls his left hand out of Cas’ to give him the finger. “Shut up!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam would respond, but Eileen is dragging him to the dance floor herself before he can speak up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They dance as best they can. Sam does step on her toes for which he apologizes profusely, but she just laughs and goes with it, saying she wore her combat boots for a reason. After a few songs, a slow one comes on, and this Sam can navigate well enough without putting any toes in danger. Near the end of it, Eileen pokes his shoulder and gestures towards a section of the dance floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Standing there, swaying, are Dean and Cas. Dean has his arms wrapped around Cas’ neck, and Cas has one hand on Dean’s waist. His other hand is on Dean’s shoulder, the same place he left a handprint almost a lifetime ago. They look to be talking about something amusing, because Cas is snickering, while Dean looks on with a smile Sam recognizes from photos of himself and Jess, back when he was a very different person than he is today. It’s fond, sincere, and absolute adoring. Like there is nothing in the world more important than what’s in front of him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They look happy,” Eillen whispers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam knows this moment, where his brother and best friend are happy, where Sam has a woman in his arms he could see marrying, where their friends are safe, might not last. Life can be cruel and happiness is not eternal. Unlike stories, there is no ensured perfect ending, tied up with a bow. But unlike Chuck’s stories, there’s no ensured tragedy waiting down the line either. There’s just life. Just the people around them, the world they saved several times over, and what they decide to make of it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not a happy ending, but it’s life. Their life. And that, Sam thinks as he bends Eileen down for a kiss, as Claire swings Kaia around in a corner, as the song ends and Dean hauls Cas in for a kiss under the dimmed lights, is more of a happy ending than he ever thought they’d get.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">
    <em>
      <strong>FIN</strong>
    </em>
  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>-The signing to communicate with loud music is a real thing. Years ago my friends who sign and I went to a concert and they were the only two people who managed to have an actual conversation the entire night. <br/>-I don’t intend for this fic to have a sequel simply because I think it wraps well: it is a fic about endings after all. That being said, I am actively considering a version of this fic from Dean’s POV where we see 1. What exactly went down in the Empty and 2. A much larger part of his story that he told. I make 0 promises, as this was a beast to write but it is on my mind.<br/>-Bless you all who commented and followed this story. Everyone. You're the reason this got finished and I adore you all. &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Fun Fact: The Petrified Forest preserve is a real place and stealing the petrified wood from there is illegal. In fact, there's a mythical curse about the consequences of doing as such. So please don't steal it. But do look up pictures: it's absolutely beautiful to look at.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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